Protected
by Flashyfirebird
Summary: Rain falls, memories fade, and the gods close their eyes to their suffering. What would have happened if Miaka had asked the wrong wishes of Suzaku? AU. Eventual Nakago x Miaka.
1. Part I: These tears we cry

**Notes:**

An idea I had, after reading Alcestis' fics. The story starts after the end of the battle between Seiryu and Suzaku in the Fushigi Yuugi series; the story diverges from the original series during this battle, when Miaka makes her wishes.

* * *

**Prelude**

It began with a word, as these things often do. It began in the middle, with a wish, a betrayal, a promise, a loss. It began on the torn asphalt rocks of her world, amidst the clouds and dust cast up in the wake of Seiryuu's summoning and Nakago's demise.

It began with _Kaijin_.

The echo of Miaka's third and final wish hung on the air. She had uttered it quietly, for Suzaku's ears' alone. The wish was a whisper between them. Miaka had closed her eyes as she said it, so she would not see the expression that crossed the phoenix god's face.

She could have turned back then, and not sealed her last wish at all. That is what she would think, anyway, much later, after sleepless nights and tears and the death of a loved one.

If she had opened her eyes she would have turned back. Would not have said it.

But she kept her eyes closed as _Kaijin _rolled off her tongue (the word that heralded the beginning of the end, the beginning of sorrow, the end of her old life. Had she known, of course she wouldn't have said it. But she thought she was being clever.)

So she spoke _Kaijin _with her eyes closed and her mouth open and then, only as the echoes of _Kaijin_ were faded did her eyes open, too.

She saw her world shifting, and that was when fear struck. She saw the phoenix-god's eyes, red, like the heart of the fire, angry and sorrowful and shocked as she hadn't known a god could be shocked. Miaka's heart raced. She wanted to shout she was sorry, wanted to reach out, to touch the god of fire and love and all things pleasant, to cry, to beg forgiveness.

But her whole world was fading. She was spinning, lost in a blind vertigo, the towers and landmarks of her world falling away. She cried out, a thin whimper lost to the blackness. She was drowning, squeezed in a vacuum -

And then it ended, and she on firm ground; she had crashed to earth on the cobbles of a back street in Eiyou, Hong-Nan's capital. She did not know where she was, of course,

The loss of Suzaku's power within her – the sudden hollowness she felt as she crouched on her hands and knees, gasping – it was surely the worst feeling she had ever known.

And she looked up, up into the gray Hong-Nan sky, and she felt herself start to shiver, uncontrolled, violent shudders that seemed to rattle her organs from somewhere deep inside. It was not just the loss of power that terrified her. It was the lack of connection she felt with everyone, everything from her home world.

She was trapped.

A hand touched her arm and she shivered, turned to face the man who stood by her, gasped sharply.

"Do I know you?" he said, and her heart constricted.

"Tamahome?"

Her voice, despite her best efforts, quivered and dipped.

He blinked slowly, eyes clearing, head shaking as though waking from a dream. "Miaka Yuuki," he said, and his voice shook slightly. "I'm glad you're here."

She smiled and kissed him soundly. He would never have to know about the silent tears she shed later, in the privacy of the room he set up for her in his own small house in Eiyou. He would never have to learn of the betrayal that had flashed through Suzaku's eyes as she sealed him, of the horrible, aching loss that still filled her sometimes, when she was drifting off to sleep. Perhaps it would have soothed her conscience to tell him, but she found she could not force the words out. After two months, she stopped trying. Had she loved Tamahome less, it might have been all right, but she was frightened. She could not risk seeing Suzaku's look of betrayal channeled toward her through Tamahome's eyes.

* * *

**I**

**These tears we cry**

After Tamahome's death, Miaka walked as though she expected rocks to fall from the sky. In the first week after the incident, she bore a perpetually dazed expression, not quite heartbroken. She simply could not bring herself to believe that that cold thing in the ground by the emperor's palace was Tamahome's body.

She slept for a long time.

When she awoke two months later, everything was gray. Faster than she could follow, they drifted away from her, her seishi. They were not cruel, but their lives were bright, candleflame red against the cold that Hong-Nan had become. And she, devoid of life, could only watch with a numb envy as they set about rebuilding their ravaged world.

_She_ left them, left them because she could no longer endure the forced bright smiles they wore around her (smiles like the ones she had worn once, if she could only recall it). Her day of departure was moist and heavy with rain. The world was in pieces, and she had only a coat, a knife, and a few dried bean cakes.

She scraped her knees on rocks slick with mould. Droplets leapt from the leaf-tips to catch in her hair. She stumbled onwards, away from the city, and Hotohori, and all the others she had left behind. She wanted to die. Her seishi wouldn't let her, of course. They would send a rescue party after her, because she was their burden, their silly little fool.

No rescue came.

The air was silent, blazing with sunlight. She stumbled, half-starving across the high mountains. The bean cakes were long gone. The hilt of the knife chafed into her thigh. Hunger was all around her, driving into her from all sides, lancing, pounding, nauseating hunger. She began to see people, the ghosts of friends she knew were alive, but never the one she wanted to see. She saw Nuriko, Chiriko.

"Where is Tamahome?" she asked. The echo of her voice shivered on the rocks.

They said nothing, but they accused her with her eyes. She ran from them, ran until her ankles gave out, and the cold of the air was transecting her flesh. She pressed her lips against the chill rock, silent and begging for death. Into the frost-bitten earth she sobbed, but no gods remained to hear her weep.

The sun sank low in the sky. As the moon roused itself, so did the shivering thing on the rocks of Hong-Nan. This Miaka had a dry face and dead eyes that blazed in a white face.

"I will not die," it said.

She found an injured squirrel and killed it, hands shaking so hard it was almost her own hands she sliced. She drank its blood with disgust and then with greed because it was the only thing sustaining her against death when the god of love had abandoned her. Then she wiped her mouth and walked on.

She came upon a road and then another. She avoided the worst parts of town, for past voyages through the Universe of the Four Gods had dulled her naiveté to manageable levels. She said little to other travelers and they, sensing hidden grief or terrible power, hurried past her without conversation.

She walked, guided by memory.

Bandits caught up to her on the twentieth day, and she fought them with knife and tooth and claw. They took everything she had not lost already, but they couldn't take her pride. She screamed but would not speak. They trapped her and used her but they could not keep her caged for long. When morning came she surprised the man who brought her food and held his own sword to his throat.

"Are we in Kutou?" she said. They were her first words that week.

"Yes," he said.

She hit his head and took his coat and the spare coins he had in his pocket. Her forearm had been sliced in the struggle. She bound it with strips from her underclothes and made it into the forest.

She could not walk the roads, so she kept to the shadows of the trees. A day passed.

She was weak, very weak. The pallid light brought forth her ribs, and her lips cracked and bled.

"Tamahome," was a word she murmured in her fevered sleep, the sleep in which she tossed back and forth on the hard ground of Kutou. She pulled her bandage off and saw streaks of red up her arm.

She was finally dying.

She stared up at the glacier-blue eyes that were surely still part of her dream. She saw Nakago's gold hair whisper in the wind as he looked down to make sure that the chi he had felt was truly hers, not illusion.

"Ironic," he said, pulling the coat back to stare at her arm, "how the priestess of the phoenix cannot keep death at bay."

She whispered two words.

"I will not kill you, Suzaku no Miko," he said, standing back, looking down from very far away.

Her plea turned insistent.

"Beg as you like," he said, turning her sword blade idly in his palm. "Did you come here alone?"

She bent her head, a glimmer of tears at the edge of her vision. "Please," she said, "I deserve to die."

He looked down slowly, and the glitter of ice in his eyes made her flinch. He knelt, and she struggled to her palms, the pain arcing up her forearm.

"Sleep," he said coldly, and something like a blue haze drifted over her eyes.

She slept.

* * *

**Notes:**

i. I like reviews. I don't really care what they say, so you can tell me this is sheer and total crap and I won't be too offended - after all, most of it was written at 3 in the morning.

ii. I'm also rather fond of Nakago, so you will probably see more of him.

iii. I've also already finished this story, so asking me to update may have some effect.


	2. Are falling rain

**...**

**II**

**Are falling rain**

**...**

When she awoke Miaka knew she wasn't dead. The air smelled too heavily of camphor for her to have transcended to a higher level, and her feet and hands were too frozen for hell.

There were silk curtains surrounding her bed in a canopy. Line ink designs spanned the walls. The window curtains were dark, green silk, and sumptuous. She surmised she was in a palace. She looked at her arm and saw it was bandaged.

She looked up as Nakago walked in. She spent a moment fighting tears, making the words as cold and harsh as possible:

"I was ready to die. I was!"

He crossed his hands. He looked utterly calm, but there was a cold menace to his figure that Miaka found impossible to ignore. She realized it had been a full years since she had seen him last. It felt like longer.

She found herself shrinking back as he approached. She forced her hands not to tremble. So much had happened since Hokkan that she was almost disgusted by her own reaction. After Tamahome's death, she had thought herself free of simple terrors, and the past.

He leaned in close and she turned away, drawing in a sharp breath. Nakago chuckled, a soft remorseless laugh. She bit her lip.

"You are _not_ ready for death, Suzaku no Miko. You still fear me. It betrays you. Were you ready for death, you would not tremble to leave this world."

"I fear nothing," she said, her eyes regaining some of their fire.

"Except me." His voice was almost mocking. "And death."

What she feared most had already happened, months past. She remained silent.

"What did you wish?" he asked. "At the end of the world, when all of us were reborn? What was the wish that brought us back here, seishis of both gods broken and powerless, and you trapped in a world where you do not belong?"

Miaka's hands trembled.

"No one knows," said Nakago. "None of your seishi." He leaned closer, so that she could not lean back, and she sensed again how very _dangerous_ he was, though he masked it behind the lightness of his voice. The terrible softness of his hand was on her forearm. _Yui_, she thought, and for a second saw the reflection of her friend's frightened eyes in Nakago's pale ones. "You told no one what you wished," said Nakago. "Not even Tamahome."

He was cruel. Miaka knew then how he had convinced Yui to follow him mindlessly. She swallowed, feeling the press of tears against the back of her throat.

"The guilt is destroying you," he murmured, tightening his grip on her wrist.

"Is it not enough that the world is ruined?" she cried, trying in vain to pull away.

"At your hands."

She broke down sobbing. He watched her impassively, releasing her arms so that he could fold his own across his lap.

"I didn't think it would turn out this way!" she said. "I thought I could find a neat solution so that no one would have to die."

"Or the dead would become undead?"

She glared at him. Her russet hair trailed in waves down her back. Someone had bathed and combed it as she slept. Her garments were no longer the tattered things she had worn into Kutou; they were linen, and they draped around her thin frame loosely.

"When you brought the end of the world down upon us a year ago," she said, "that was when Yui made her wish that allowed me to summon Suzaku.

"I used my first wish to seal Seiryu's power. He could no longer continue devouring Yui, and she was released."

She saw his eyes sharpen and she knew he remembered that moment. Her hands fisted on the coverlet.

"That was not the only effect sealing Seiryu's power had," he said.

She remembered his death, the sound of Tamahome's fist sealing his fate in the harsh light of early morning.

"I always wondered why you didn't dodge," she murmured.

"What were your other wishes?" he asked sharply.

"You were dead then, I forgot." She kicked her heels against the bed. "I wanted the worlds to be restored," she said. "As though there had never been a battle, as though the priestesses of Seiryu and Suzaku had never set foot on the Shijintenchisho and the seishi powers had never woken. I wanted everything to be returned to what it should have been. That was the second wish."

"The god cannot return the dead to life," said Nakago, and she wondered if he thought she was lying. His face was a cold, blank mask.

"There are alternate realities," she said. "Tetsuya told me of them. Each time a major decision is made a world splits off. There are hundreds of worlds such as these. In one of them, Hotohori and I are married. In another, you rule over the four kingdoms as emperor. So." She tilted her head. "I did not ask Suzaku to bring back the dead. I asked him to take our worlds and to merge them with a better reality, as best he could."

"I hardly think my continued survival constitutes a better reality in your eyes, Suzaku no Miko."

"Suzaku has a perverse mind," Miaka retorted. Her face clouded. "Had."

She shifted her weight on the bed. Nakago's eyes were narrowed, cold and calculating. She sensed he sensed the real reason for her guilt. She wondered if he was annoyed or amused by her roiling conscience. He was probably planning to manipulate her somehow. She wondered if she cared.

"I surmise," he said silkily, "that the reference to your god in past tense pertains somehow to the third wish?"

Miaka bent her head back and then brought her face down onto her hands. "I was too busy trying to be clever!" she said.

It was almost a wail.

His hands closed over her wrists. She cried out in pain as her bandaged wound throbbed. His grip tightened. She remembered Hokkan, and fear almost blinded her for a moment.

"You will tell me," said Nakago.

"Let go of me."

He complied with a suddenness that was almost startling. He strolled to the door almost casually, gave commands to someone outside it. She pressed her shaking fingers to her knees, dashing the moisture from her eyes.

"What are you in this reality?" she asked him. "You're not emperor?"

He did not deign to reply to this remark but regarded her with a stare that was two parts indifference and three parts dislike. She bit her lip, smoothing creases out of her robe.

"The third wish, Suzaku no Miko."

"_Don't _call me that! I'm not the Suzaku no Miko any longer." She laughed, long and bitter. "Suzaku's been sealed, and the best part is, _I_ sealed him. _That_ was my last wish."

It was the perfect plan. There was a logic to it, a symmetry.

Seal the beast-god, avoid devourance by the beast. It had worked for Yui, and clearly for Miaka too.

"I restored the worlds," Miaka said. "I brought peace, as best as I could. And then there was that last wish, one wish left, and how to use it? Wish to be with Tamahome? Of course we knew that was impossible."

"Supposed to be impossible," he murmured.

"It would have been a wasted wish!" she cried.

"Even then, you didn't want to die," said Nakago. He chuckled. "You would have made a fine Seiryu no Miko, Priestess."

She flushed darkly.

"And how did you come to be here?" said Nakago. "Why are you in this world, and not in your own?"

"I don't know that," said Miaka. "It's a mystery to me as much as you."

"Well then," he said.

There was food on the table, delivered by the servants while she was talking. She suddenly realized she was weak with hunger.

"Eat," said Nakago. "But remember this." He leaned closer, so close his pale hair almost brushed her cheek. "There are three Seiryu seishi currently residing in the Kutou palace, and none of them take kindly to knowing the Suzaku no Miko is a guest here."

She shrank back involuntarily. She sensed his amusement at her reaction, and it brought a shiver to her spine. He was at the doorway before what he said could register, and only then did she call out:

"Only three?"

He caught her eye for a moment, and the expression on his face was so blank that it terrified her.

She looked away from his eyes.

"Remember that if you try to escape," he said.

* * *

**Notes:** In canon, Miaka's first wish is to free Yui, her second is to seal Seiryu, and her third is to restore the world's peace. I thought the first one was a little superfluous in light of the second (I'm fairly certain Watase does it in this order solely for drama). And that line of logic led to this particular plot twist.

Reviews would be nice. You know, those things that you leave after pushing the blue button.


	3. For all the lies you told us

**...**

**III**

**For all the lies you told us**

**...**

The door was kept locked, but she had expected nothing else. Miaka slept well in the confines of her prison, and woke for breakfast feeling refreshed. She paced a little, and when that hurt, she lay down again and asked for books from the palace library.

So it was that when Nakago arrived that evening her eyes were almost crossed with the strain of deciphering poorly-penned texts.

"How long will I be a prisoner here?" she said, not looking up.

"Until I decide how you can be of use; or, barring that, until you wear thin your welcome and I have you killed."

She stared at him in horror, but mostly for show; she was not really surprised. It calmed her to hear the blunt truth from Nakago's mouth. It suggested that he had not yet resumed his attempts to manipulate her, or perhaps he had abandoned that as a lost cause.

"Why did you come here, Priestess of Suzaku?" he asked her now.

She shrugged, closing the book in her lap with a clap. "I'm really not sure," she said, raising hazel eyes to his in something like a challenge. Her lips parted, and she smiled. "Maybe I just wanted to see for my own eyes that you weren't plotting to re-conquer Hong-Nan."

He approached her with speed that was almost superhuman, and she wondered at his ability to move as though he had not lost his powers a year ago.

"The truth," he said.

She hesitated, watching him carefully; a cool breeze blew in through the open window, and she stood up to close it. He caught her wrist before she could move. She felt her heart beat faster, like a caged wild thing.

"Everyone was forgetting Tamahome," she said, yanking her hand away and scooting backward. "I couldn't stay in Hong-Nan. Everyone was forgetting their days as a seishi. When this universe merged with the better reality, everyone gained other memories, _pleasant_ memories, of what their lives would have been like without the war. I had to leave. I kept reminding them of what they wanted to forget. I was different, because I'm not from this world, so I didn't have other memories to fall back on.

"But you still remember, don't you? I knew you would. The losing side never forgets."

She really expected him to kill her then. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow. A minute passed, and there was only silence. She snuck a quick look at him, but he seemed more thoughtful than angry. Strange.

"How long am I to stay here?" she asked again. She pointed toward the door, knowing she was being annoying, refusing to care. "Can I at least look around the palace, instead of being shut up in this room tomorrow?"

He didn't answer.

She hardly expected him to return the next day, but he did, in the evening. He looked almost tired, and that was strange. If anything could convince her that the Seiryu seishi had lost their powers, it was that.

"Are you still Commander?" she said. "I guess you're not Emperor, you're not dressed right for that, and we'd have heard of it in Hong-Nan."

"Very little has changed," he said coldly.

"I disagree," she said, biting her lip. "Does the Emperor remember you murdered him?"

"Which Emperor?" For a moment, he looked almost amused. "Your friend Hotohori, or the Emperor of Kutou?"

She shuddered, turning toward the window. "The last one."

"Conveniently the Emperor of Kutou retains no recollection of the incident."

"Oh," she said.

"Although I am certain the Emperor of Hong-Nan does not look on me with fond memories."

Miaka bit down on her lip, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Suddenly, her back was against the wall, her neck beneath his hand; shocked, she stared into his eyes, which were hard. She tried to draw breath, and choked against the force of his hand at her throat. Panic flooded her. She started to struggle. He eased his grip on her slightly but did not let her go, only watched her. Finally he said:

"Why are you _really_ here, Priestess of Suzaku? Did you expect me to believe that you came looking for _my_ company – when I was responsible for destroying half your seishi – and for that _dreadful_ incident in Hokkan?"

"Let go of me," she rasped.

He let her go, watching her coldly.

"So I lied to you," she said. "Not like you've never done that before."

"My lies, Suzaku no Miko, are at least moderately convincing to the recipient."

"Shut up," she said. "You know what's wrong with this world, right now? There's no love -"

"A terrible loss."

" – and there's no war."

He stepped back, eyes narrowing.

"Everything's lost its flavor," she said. "It happened when the gods were sealed away. This world doesn't have gods, or priestesses, or seishi, and it's _bleak_."

"I was on the verge of death in the mountains of Hong-Nan," she said. She saw him raise an eyebrow. "I'm serious," she said.

"I am merely marveling at how a miko can find herself near death on so many different instances in the space of a week," said Nakago. "It speaks of an incredible lack of competence."

She grit her teeth against the red flush that was suffusing her face.

"I saw Taiitsukun when I collapsed," she said. "Not in body, she's pretty weak right now. She told me what I have to do to restore the gods to the Shijintenchisho. _Both_ the gods, Suzaku and Seiryu. I have to do this. To set things right. And I'm going to need -"

"You need something from the Imperial Palace," said Nakago.

She relaxed. "I need to collect the scepter of the Emperor of Kutou."

And the Emperors of Hong-Nan and the other lands in the Universe of the Four Gods. She did not tell Nakago this. One step at a time.

"You think I will help you in this matter?"

She watched him. He wore the same cold look he had worn the evening before, but she didn't think he was angry. It was getting easier to read his moods.

"No," she said. "But I damn well hope you won't try to stop me."

He shot her an indecipherable look. Perhaps she had gained back the ounce of respect she had lost last night. She was tired of trying to gauge the machine that was Nakago.

"There is nothing wrong with this universe," he said. "And you are a prisoner here."

She felt her hopes sliding away but kept a firm grip on her smile. It seemed to disconcert him, as much as Nakago of the Ice could be disconcerted by anything, and that cheered her.

"I should think," he said bluntly, "that you would be glad for the end of war."

"Of course I am," said Miaka. "That's why we _need_ war. One or two a decade helps put debacles like this in perspective."

* * *

**Notes:**

Reviews are nice. Flames are not. The little blue button is your friend.**  
**


	4. The hurt, the blame

**...**

**IV**

**The hurt, the blame**

**...**

She did not even bother looking up on the fourth night, but recognized the sound of his footsteps. He did not say anything when he came in, but watched her until she looked up from her book and offered him some of the tea (it was cold).

"Reading," he said.

She closed the book on Genbu with a snap. "Nothing important," she said.

"Taiitsukun requires you to get the scepters from the other emperors as well? That is your task if you are to summon the gods?"

She shot him a lukewarm smile. He did not seem interested in tea, so she took it and quaffed the cup down. "Change your mind on helping me with the Emperor of Kutou?" she said.

He regarded her silently.

"Didn't think so," she said. "How about just letting me go? We'll pretend this didn't happen."

"A ransom has already been sent to the Emperor of Hong-Nan," said Nakago. "Your departure now _will_ cause a war… without Seiryu's assistance."

"I knew you weren't just keeping me here for my company or anything." She paused. "How much did you ask Hotohori for?"

"A quarter of Hong-Nan," said Nakago. "The Kutou emperor has no memory of you, but I explained that you were a relative of the Emperor's and a very personal friend. He seemed to think the amount fitting."

She stared out the window. Drip, drip, drip. Did it ever do anything in Kutou _except _rain?

"Do not be sad," said Nakago. "He may _not_ reply. In which case you may get your wish for an early death after all."

Day five of her stay in Kutou, and it was still raining. Undaunted, Miaka managed, with some dignified bullying, to persuade Sako - the man on duty - to accompany her on a stroll through the palace.

It was strange how people reacted to her in this reality – ordinary people, the ones who hadn't been seishi. If _they_ had two sets of memories then the dominant set certainly didn't include a war, or a Priestess of Suzaku.

And yet…

When she made conversation with the guard, he could have been a recovering amnesiac. Blinking, dazed, confused. She was sure she had never set eyes on him before. But she had had this effect on people back in Hong-Nan, too. Perhaps that was why the Emperor's wife had never invited her over for tea.

It felt good to be out of the confines of her room. She refused to feel guilty. Nakago had not expressly forbid her to leave, simply warned her that if she did escape she was at the mercy of whatever former Seiryu seishi happened to be patrolling the area.

"Do you mind the rain?" said Sako. "The fastest way to the imperial library is through the garden, just there."

"Do _you_ mind the rain?" she asked Sako.

"No," he said.

"Good," she said.

Miaka quickly remembered why _she _minded the rain. The gardens were dripping, and soon water was running down her hair, her shirt, her arms. She poked the bandage on her arm and wondered if she should be getting it wet so soon. It was a balmy day, placid and tranquil in the gardens. Things splashed and dripped and hopped.

"How long have you worked here, Sako?"

He bent his head in thought. "Fif…teen…"

She could see in his eyes, a flicker of worry. Maybe that he would lose his job for helping her. Or something else? What _had_ she changed when she made her second wish to Suzaku?

She looked at the ground, at the fresh paw print before her in the mud. It was eerily familiar. Something about the image brought a flash of horror to her throat – death and a boulder…

"Are there… dogs on guard here, Sako?"

"There is a trained wolf," Sako said. "But he is very tame."

The leaves whispered. She stepped back quickly. "Do you know," she said. "I think we're quite wet enough. I'm sorry I brought you out here, Sako. It's miserable weather."

"I do not mind the rain," said Sako.

Miaka stared over his shoulder, at the silhouette that appeared through the mist. Her lips and face had gone white.

"Do not fear," said Sako. "He is quite tame."

"I know," said Miaka, not taking her eyes off the wolf. "And yet… Silly of me… I've always feared wolves since they killed my friend."

Ashitare's eyes didn't leave hers. Miaka licked her lips.

"Silly of me," she repeated.

He heard the scream from two corridors away, never mind that it came from outside. There was a quality to the sound that was extremely familiar, and he recognized its owner instantly. Perhaps he simply knew it from his past dealings with the Suzaku no Miko. Perhaps he recognized it because nobody else would have the blunt stupidity to venture into the imperial gardens on such a miserable day.

He picked up his speed on the second shout, opening the door with barely a touch. His eyes raked over the silhouette of the wolf, the Suzaku no Miko (drenched and with a gash in her side), and the good-for-nothing soldier he had placed by her door standing over the miko with his sword upraised. He guessed that the soldier had pulled the wolf off, if the miko's whimpers were to be trusted.

"Well, Ashitaire," Nakago said. "I see that you've found a plaything."

Miaka shot him a horrified look.

Ashitaire drew back his teeth in a snarl. Wide yellow eyes, tinted red, over long incisors.

"I was wondering when your memories would return," said Nakago. "It is a pity. You made an excellent guard dog."

Nakago had had a year to recover from the loss of his powers; and he knew this opponent. Ashitaire was wary and quick, but he was also bewildered by the sudden resurgence of memory and hatred. The fight would be short.

Almost before he had finished the thought, the wolf grew bored of strategy and sprang. Nakago saw the tension building in the lines of his fur before the move. It was a furious attack, blurringly fast, but Nakago waited until the wolf was almost at his hip before lazily spiraling down with the sword. The wolf fell, rolling sideways, and jumped back on his feet.

He was up again, warier: the silent gray form that Nakago had slain back at Hokkan. This time when Ashitaire attacked he feinted to the right and then, snarling, barreled into Nakago's left side. He heard his cloak rip.

Down went the sword and up went Nakago's boot, and Ashitaire was flung sideways to land on his back, a mouthful of cloth in his teeth. Nakago strode forward to finish the thing: his boot was in the wolf's stomach, and Ashitaire whimpered in pain.

He brought his sword up, ready to kill.

"No!" Miaka shouted.

The sound made him pause for a lightning-brief second, and Ashitaire's teeth sank into his leg. With a silent curse, Nakago sliced the wolf's head from its shoulders and stabbed the beast through the heart.

He flicked the blade against the leaf-litter and sheathed it, coldly assessing the damage to his leg. As he could place his weight on it without falling over he deemed the injury immaterial. He would have it seen to later. There was a hole in his cloak the size of a small dog. He blamed the Suzaku no Miko for this.

"Get up," he told her.

Her shirt was torn half-off and he saw a long gash in her side from the animal's teeth. It did not look deep. She shivered and tried to cover herself. Coldly, he tossed her the remains of his cloak.

Ashitaire's dead eyes stared into the mist. In Kutou, rain continued to fall and drip like tears from the leaf-cover.

She was escorted back to her bedroom and left there, still dripping, Nakago's cloak draped around her small shoulders like armor. She watched Nakago's retreating form and for the first time felt severely frightened.

He did not return, not until that evening. By then she had managed to get herself dry and even find herself something to wear that almost fit her. Her wound had been seen to by the palace doctors; she suspected he had ordered them to attend to her.

He did not return until late that night, and by then she had almost given up on him coming. She had worn her nails down to the quick, had tried to read but failed to take in anything. She paced up and down the small room until her side ached so much she had to stop.

_Stupid!_

The word kept replaying itself in her head.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

When he came in finally, she was sitting by the window that overlooked the garden, straining to see some sign of what had transpired amidst the green. She spun around gladly, and then gasped as he grasped her by the shoulder, so that her back was pressing into the chair.

"Is your leg all right?" she asked faintly.

"That is none of your concern," he said.

She leaned back, rebuffed by his rebuff. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I won't do it again."

"Indeed. It would be a pity for you to have to suffer the same fate as your guard."

"What fate?" she said. "What have you done with Sako?"

He smiled, and she cursed herself for letting this happen. Always innocent people were dying on her account, and she had no idea what she did to deserve it.

"I can't believe you killed him," she said, shaking. "_You_ never said I had to stay trapped in here. He wasn't disobeying your orders. He's been a good, loyal soldier fifteen years. Maybe he was a little bit slow on the uptake with Ashitaire – "

"He was bribed by Suiboshi," said Nakago. "Do you think you cut through the gardens _on accident_, Suzaku no Miko?"

She pressed a fist to her mouth, shaking her head, more in disbelief than in outright denial.

"Come," he said. "You should not be sad. Your antics have drawn the attention of the Emperor of Kutou. He wants to meet you in person."

His tone was nothing like his words; it was cruel, mocking, almost pitying. Somehow she sensed that, despite her quest and everything she had been through, she did not want to meet the Emperor of Kutou.

* * *

**Notes:**

Is it making sense yet?


	5. And we will weep

**...**

**V**

**And we will weep**

**...**

The shirt she had come to Kutou in was a wreck, and she had no intention of wearing it before the Emperor, but it was one of her few reminders of home. She had picked up a bit of sewing as Tamahome's betrothed (he tore enough clothing to fill a tailor's shop). So Miaka spent her morning repairing her shirt.

Nakago had not retrieved the cloak she had worn out of the garden, so when she was done she mended that, too, with small, confident stitches. It was not as good as new, but it would certainly be serviceable in the future. When she was done, she folded it and placed it on the chair.

She had almost forgotten it when Nakago arrived that evening. She had paced until blisters started to form from the rub of her slippers against her heel. Then she had removed her slippers and paced more, until her feet were so pale from the cold tiles that she could barely feel them.

She had not felt it when she first entered her prison, but now that she had recovered she could sense it; a kind of amorphous evil, a blackness, hung over the palace of Kutou. It was warped and hungry, and Miaka felt as though she was being crushed slowly beneath the weight of it. She wondered if Nakago could sense the cloud of oppression that hung over the palace, if he was even aware of it – or whether his personality, already darkened by his past, had made him immune to the horror of it.

She did not know why she so feared the Emperor – only that if this blackness had anything to do with the Emperor, or was due to him directly – then she wanted nothing to do with him.

Two years in the Shijintenchisho had taught her to trust her instincts.

She jumped to her feet when Nakago entered. His gaze flicked over her briefly, then went to the window.

"You look like a criminal being sent to the gallows," he told her. "Sit."

"What does the Emperor want?" asked Miaka, still standing. "Why does the Emperor want to meet me?"

He did not answer, but crossed over to the chair where his cloak lay folded and picked it up.

"I fixed it," she said.

"The Emperor," he said, fingering her stitching, "will not have time to see you until tomorrow, Suzaku no Miko. He is a busy man."

It was worse, somehow, than if he had taken her to the Emperor now. She could not relax, but strode wordlessly to the window. He watched the tense line of her shoulders for a minute and then dropped the something soft and heavy onto the windowsill. She looked down at the cloak she had spent her morning mending and grimaced. In the late-afternoon light, her stitches looked jagged and raw.

"An interesting pursuit for a miko," he said blandly.

"Well," said Miaka, "Who else was there to fix Tamahome's things after he tore them half to death battling you all those times?"

"I'm sure he found your efforts… helpful."

She drew in an indignant breath. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She forced her gaze resolutely out the window.

"Hm." He looked amused. "How many pins should I expect to find in my clothing tomorrow, Suzaku no Miko?" he said.

Their eyes met. Miaka's lips parted, as she tried to think of some response that would express her utter indignation regarding his accusation. No words came out. Her hands closed into fists and then opened again. She felt a flush starting somewhere around her cheekbones and spreading across her face, down her neck.

He placed a finger beneath her chin to raise it. The touch shocked her into motion. She stumbled backward, almost falling against the bed.

"Interesting," he said.

Her mouth could not form a proper response. She scowled and pushed herself onto the bed. Her side was starting to hurt her. _What's interesting_? she wanted to know.

"You should have sent the garment with the palace guards," Nakago said, after a moment. "The palace tailors would have seen to the mending of it."

Her head swept up, brown eyes snapping. "That wasn't the point!" she exclaimed. "It was supposed to be a –"

How to finish the statement? Not a gift, not a kindness – the gesture had been solely a way of assuaging her guilt for her blunt stupidity the day before. She cast her eyes on his leg, which was no longer bloody, and then stared determinedly out the window.

An expression flickered briefly across his face, something almost like emotion. The time course was so brief that she wondered if she could have imagined it. Because when he spoke next the wall of ice was back, and she did not know how it could possibly have vanished and reappeared so quickly.

"Touching," he said coldly. "Then I suppose I must interpret this as a gesture of reconciliation."

The room was near silent. Miaka squirmed with embarrassment. To dispel the awkwardness that lingered over her prison, she busied herself tidying up the bed. She hated that, with words, he could turn a kind gesture into something petty and ridiculous.

"I wanted to make up for being the reason Ashitaire woke up," she said, smoothing the creases out of the bed with such force she nearly succeeded in dislodging the covers. She remembered the odd effect she seemed to have on people and bit her lip. "He wouldn't have remembered everything if he hadn't seen me."

"Strange how you seem to have the gift of being in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time, Suzaku no Miko."

His voice had changed. Before it had been almost playful, or at least toying – cat-and-mouse. Now it was almost frighteningly cold.

She took a step backward, biting her lip. "Your leg –"

"Yes," he said coolly, "Your thoughtless shouting was most ill-planned, Suzaku no Miko. Did all your seishi have to put up with these kind of gambits when they were alive?"

Miaka turned away, shocked to find her lips trembling. She pressed them together and went back to straightening the covers on the bed. Her eyes were misting around the edges –

Ridiculous. Twice as stupid when you considered how she'd fought battles against this person, battled him and _won_. That he was getting under her skin now was appalling.

"If you're not going to take me to the Emperor, then get out of my room," she said, her voice shaking.

She thought about things, like the fact that the Emperor was only letting Nakago live right now because he did not remember how Nakago had killed him.

He chuckled. "Sleep well, Suzaku no Miko."

Everyone remembered the things they'd forgotten when they saw her; that was her curse, and her blessing.

"Or do not sleep at all; it really is no concern of mine."

He was cruel to her (she knew this as he closed the door and locked it so that she could hear); he had hurt Yui; destroyed the whole world; and she hated him for it; she hated him more than she hated the Emperor of Kutou, more than she feared the blackness that was lying in wait over the palace. That was why she would allow Nakago to walk to his death the next day with a light heart.

A single drop of moisture, left over from their earlier discourse, lost the battle to remain in her eye and slid its way down her cheek.

* * *

Make sense? Too angsty? Too plot-heavy? Let me know.

Kudos to the person who figures out where I'm lifting the chapter titles from.

Thanks to the 2 people who have reviewed this so far. Keep them coming! I know there are people out there who are reading this, since ff has this cool and conveniently maddening device called a story stats page. See the big blue button? Doesn't it look friendly? Hmmm?


	6. To be so alone

**...**

**VI**

**To be so alone**

**...**

She was on tenterhooks the next morning. She could not eat. She took two bites of porridge and then pushed the rest away. Her anger from the night before had fled, leaving her weary and guilt-stricken.

Nakago entered. He saw the half-eaten bowl of porridge and his brows rose halfway to his hairline. "Is the world coming to its end… again?"

"I'm not always hungry," she said.

"That itself is a frightening statement when the speaker is considered."

She whipped around to glare at him. "I'm not lying," she said. "I don't like to lie."

He watched her coldly.

"You think I'm a liar!" she said.

"You hide more secrets than you used to," said Nakago, "or perhaps you have more secrets to hide now than you did before, Suzaku no miko."

"Don't call me that." She took a breath. "I don't even understand what's going on myself half the time, but there's something – something strange about how the worlds fused when those wishes were made –"

"Your point?"

She shrugged, making the gesture lighthearted. She was still angry, but Nakago was right: she had become better at hiding her thoughts in the year since the gods had abandoned them. "Tell me the truth," she said. "Did you remember anything about the war, anything about the worlds _I_ remember, before I turned up practically on your doorstep?"

"Yes," said Nakago.

She stared into his eyes, wondering if he was lying. He was not. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or afraid.

Perhaps she was both. _None_ of the others had remembered at first, not even Tamahome. The memory of their past lives returned when they were near her and then seemed to fade, driven away by more immediate concerns. When they saw her next it was as though she was some odd creature in a curiosity shop; it usually took them a moment to recognize her.

Tamahome had been different, of course; once he'd regained his memories, he _remembered _her. Losing him was devastating because she had no one to fall back on, not even her seishi.

"Did anyone else remember?" said Miaka. "Without you having to remind them, I mean?"

"No," said Nakago.

There was a kind of harshness to his voice that she was familiar with; it reminded her of the bitterness in her own heart that went with her encounters with her seishi.

"You told them, didn't you?" said Miaka. "Suiboshi wouldn't have known to try and kill me, if not for you."

She sensed she was treading on dangerous ground, but he neither affirmed nor denied it.

"How hard was it," she asked, "to get them to believe you?"

Still no reply. She tried another tack. "You said earlier that there were three seishi at the palace who wanted me dead. Two now, I suppose. Suiboshi and you. What happened to Tomo?"

"Alive," said Nakago. "But not here."

She paused. "Miboshi –"

"Miboshi is not alive in this world," said Nakago. "Not to my knowledge."

"What happened to Soi?" asked Miaka.

The minute the words had fled her mouth she wished she had not asked. The mask was back _en force_.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, momentarily forgetting her hatred. "It's all right."

"Kaen has not been seen in eleven months," he said. His voice was so quiet, she strained her ears listening. "Ever since I caused her to regain her memories of the Shijintenchisho."

-v-

The young woman called Kaen led a very different lifestyle from the Seiryu seishi Soi. For one thing, she was a dressmaker. For another, she had never held a sword in her life. The first time she had heard the word 'brothel' had been that summer, when she had (amidst blushing) asked her brother to explain the concept to her after learning that a potential hiree had escaped from one.

She had a family, a mother and father. The only thing that was the same was her long black hair, which she had refused to cut since she was a child.

When the warrior with the pale, pale hair came to call on the shop she started up as one in a dream and started towards him without knowing why.

"Seiryu Warrior Soi," he said.

"Who?" she said.

"You are the Soi," said Nakago. "One of the Seiryu seven."

"No I'm not," she said, "I'm Kaen."

"You do not remember the war with Hong-Nan? The battles you fought as a Seiryuu warrior? Your powers?"

"What powers?" Soi was whispering.

"Lightning," he said. "And –"

There was the sense of something shifting, of cloth being ripped apart or perhaps incinerated by a crackling whiteness that seemed to fill her vision. It happened so fast, and the patching was so sloppy, _sloppy, sloppy, SLOPPY!_ Her mind was suddenly one big patchwork with great black scraps that were Soi and pale fragments that were Kaen and it was _wrong _and –

She knew what a brothel was now.

"Nakago –" she said. She stopped. "No. I don't know you. Get out of my shop."

"You are Soi," he said. "One of the Seiryu seven."

"I'm not Soi. _Get out!_" she screamed. "_GET OUT!_"

But Soi wouldn't get out of her head.

And when Nakago returned, one week later, he found the dress shop windows barred, and Kaen's brother said she hadn't been seen for six days.

-v-

Miaka understood now.

The people who saw her remembered themselves, as they were when they had known Miaka in the _old_ Shijintenchisho. What she had told Nakago that night, the third night at the palace, it had almost been the truth. She had not been able to stand the thought of going back; her presence in Hong-Nan _was_ hurting the other seishi. They had been content, wanting to forget about their past lives, and whenever Miaka was around, _no one_ could forget. She had seen it with Ashitaire, and with Sako in the gardens

The other Seishi could cause someone to regain a memory, but she was the only one who forced them to remember, just by existing. She was special, always the special one. Everyone remembered their former lives on seeing Miaka, whether they wished to or not.

One of Nakago's last actions, in his former life, had been to murder the Emperor of Kutou in cold blood.

Even though the day was warm, Miaka trembled as she walked the hall toward the throne room. They would be received by the Emperor of Kutou in less than five minutes, and, willingly or not, she was leading Nakago to his death.

* * *

Yikes. I'm sorry. I got back to school after spring break, and the workload _exploded_. It was utterly ridiculous. Thank goodness that's over!

Thanks for all of your support! I love getting your feedback. My question this week is: did the revelation at the end make sense? Was it actually a surprise, or had you figured it out? Or are you still confused?

More coming soon!


	7. We are lost

**...**

**VII**

**We are lost**

**...**

"We are here," said Nakago.

"Yes," said Miaka. She drew in a breath and tried to relax, though she felt for some reason that she was poised on a precipice. "Did he say what he wants, the Emperor of Kutou?"

"To get to know you better."

He said it blandly, so blandly that Miaka almost didn't know to blush – and then the full implications of his words sank in, and she did.

"Disgusting," she hissed.

"Yes," he said.

She paused, for it seemed for a moment as though he agreed with her sentiments. Had she only imagined it? He caught her eye, his face unreadable, and she was suddenly caught up by a wave of remorse that she barely understood.

"Nakago?" she whispered.

"I will go first," said Nakago.

She wanted to tell him to be careful. She could not call him an ally, but she at least had some idea where she stood with Nakago, and suddenly that fact made it frightfully important that she warn him to hide, to run from the Emperor's wrath.

Only he had already entered the throne room, and it was too late, too late to put her lips to his ear and whisper a warning, and he would likely not heed her word if she had spoken, because she was a captive and he was the reason for her captivity, and anyway it was correct that he should be punished for imprisoning her.

She stood on her toes, fingers pressing into the wood frame of the throne room door, just out of sight of the room. She had seen the Imperial throne room of Kutou once before, on her first visit to the palace. Her glimpse of the room had only been fleeting. Overcome with emotion at finding with Yui, she had spared little attention for the distinguishing features of the hall, or for the Emperor himself.

Her heart stomach was slowly winding into knots. There was something ugly, something terrible about this place. She stared down the hallway, remembering where she had hidden with Yui. That had been years ago.

She could hear every word Nakago and the emperor were saying.

"You have heard the news from Hong-Nan?"

"No, my lord?"

"You know that I contacted the Emperor of Hong-Nan on your recommendation." The Emperor was almost purring. "And yet – strange thing – a messenger _just returned_ from Hong-Nan carrying a message from he Emperor himself and… well, do you know what he said?"

"I have no idea," said Nakago, sounding bored.

"He claims not to have a cousin, or have any memory of a girl who goes by the name of Miaka Yuki."

Miaka bit her lip.

"He is bluffing," said Nakago.

But Miaka knew it wasn't a bluff. Hotohori would _never_ lie like that.

_Out of sight, out of mind_, she thought hysterically. Hotohori and the other seishi truly did not remember her; they only regained their memories of her when she was present to remind them. She wanted to be sick.

"You exaggerated the girl's importance," said the Emperor silkily. "You know I don't like it when things are exaggerated. Well, bring her in. I want to meet the reason my pet wolf went mad and had to be exterminated. She's the first person he's attacked, you know, without my permission."

"Of course, Your Highness."

I don't want to go in, Miaka thought. Something terrible is about to happen.

"Come," said Nakago.

He was an ugly man, the Emperor of Kutou. Badly gone to seed, with a face like an old, hard cliff-face – that was the first thing she noticed about him. The next thing she noticed was that he was leaning on a staff: immemorable thing it was really, a long wood pole with a gold handle. But it bore the crest of Kutou.

"You – child – come here," he said.

She was waiting for the widening of his eyes, the shock as he recognized her (recognized both of them, rather). She was so intent on catching the momentary confusion, that she was utterly bewildered to realize that – in the minute since she had entered the room – she had walked to the front of the dais to stand before him, _and nothing had happened_.

"Hmph," said the Emperor of Kutou.

"My lord?" said Nakago.

Miaka's eyes wandered over the dais. Guards flanked the Emperor of Kutou in two lines. She saw a flash of movement at the end of the row of guards, what looked like light hair. Two eyes, amber and blazing beneath a mop of pale curls.

Suboshi.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"So you're the reason my wolf is dead, are you? My Ashitaire?"

The Emperor of Kutou placed a finger beneath her chin. Miaka fought not to look too disgusted.

"But then, Ashitaire tried to kill you as well. A most unfortunate incident. I suppose you'll be wanting a gift in reparation for your wound, hn? What about the standard of the Emperor of Kutou? How would that suit you?"

Miaka licked dry lips. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of her head, louder than she could ignore.

"Really," he murmured. "I had expected more of a fight from the _Suzaku no Miko_."

She jerked her head backward, out of his grip. He caught her by the hair. She thought of the worst swear she could (it still didn't do the situation justice). "Your scepter?" she said. "How did you _know_?"

"One of your guards was spying for me," said the Emperor cheerfully. "Well, what are you waiting for? I want Ayuru and this girl arrested."

-v-

Thanks for reading! Special thanks to _Marguerite Lily, Broken Ink Bottles, Driorianos, _and _megumisakura_ for your reviews! Keep them coming - it motivates me to write. And I need the motivation right now, since I decided last Thursday that I really did not like the ending to this (it was originally approximately ten chapters?) and am currently ... extending it. Significantly.

The next chapter will be longer; I promise. This one is kind of a teaser of the drama to ensue.

Disclaimer: Fushigi Yuugi belongs to Yuu Watase, and is therefore not mine. Gollum's Song belongs to Emiliana Torrini and is also not mine.

(I probably should have been putting these disclaimer thingies on each chapter from the beginning, shouldn't I...? Oops? Blame it on the fact that for the last three years I've been mainly posting on fictionpress, where everything actually DOES belong to me.)


	8. We can never go home

**...**

**VIII**

**We can never go home**

**...**

There were soldiers everywhere. These were not the ones Nakago had trained with and fought with. The emperor had seen to that.

It was like watching a single lion take on a hungry wolf-pack. Nakago was a master, but even he had to tire eventually against so many opponents. She could barely see him amidst the soldiers, but she could hear the sound of his fighting. She winced as she heard a man thud to the floor.

"Nakago?" said Miaka. "You're arresting _Nakago_?"

"Oh, yes," said the Emperor. "He's been plotting with you to steal the royal standard, hasn't he, Miaka Yuuki?"

She blinked. Of all the things she had expected to come out of his mouth, that had not been first, second, or even forty-second on the list.

"It's not true!" she said. "You _know_ that's not true!"

The Emperor leaned closer. "Of course it's not true," he said. "But it's a plausible reason for the underlying truth. Nobody else remembers my dying, but _I do_. I swore, six months ago, when Suboshi caused me to regain my memories of the day Nakago killed me, that I would have him tortured to death before my eyes. You, my dear, have given me the perfect excuse." He patted her cheek. "Don't fret. I know what he did to you. You'll get to watch him die."

Nakago was still fighting, doing battle with a speed and elegance that was almost superhuman despite the loss of his seishi powers. He alternated between using his whip and longsword to drive the soldiers back.

She saw a man creep in from the side and cried a warning.

"Interesting how you pity your captor," said the Emperor.

She turned a burning glare on him. The fight was unfair. Nakago was tiring, battling more opponents than any normal human could hope to withstand.

"I won't need to arrest you, if you cooperate," said the Emperor. His hand was on her thigh.

"You're sick," she murmured, not taking her eyes off the soldiers.

He slapped her. She staggered backward, catching herself on the arm of the throne before she fell off the dais. Shrieking, she lashed out with her foot, catching the Emperor in the shin. With speed that was almost superhuman, the Emperor lashed out with his staff, catching her across the ribs and sending her backward to the floor. She felt the butt of the staff press against her throat.

The toe of Suboshi's boot met her side, making her gasp. His eyes were golden, angry.

"Suboshi –"

"You dare to ask why?" His voice was shaking, enraged, barely under control. She remembered the destruction of Tamahome's family and felt cold. "You're the reason everything was ruined, the reason our side lost, and Yui –"

"Has _he _been telling you these things?" She glared at the Emperor. "Your side lost because you couldn't trust in one another. And Yui is in my world now, and safe, as far as I know."

"Silence," said the Emperor. The staff drove deep into her throat, and she choked. Her eyes snapped back to the Emperor.

She had not imagined the outpouring of evil she had sensed earlier in originating in this room, from this man. Something was very dark about the Emperor; as she watched, it seemed to intensify, like a telescope coming into focus. Through her narrowed eyes, she noticed that his form seemed blurred around the edges, and the redness in his eyes was nothing short of otherworldly.

"_Demon_," she hissed.

"A little slow on the uptake, Miko of Suzaku." Demon and Emperor shrugged, eyes glowing red. "But correct in fundamentals. The Emperor of Kutou is possessed. His terror at the memories of his murder let me in. He welcomed me into his body, thinking it would save him from his fate."

The sounds of fighting below them were ebbing. Miaka tried not to think about it. "Will it?" she demanded.

"Of course not," said the demon, sounding amused. "He will die, one way or another."

"I'm sure he's glad to hear that," Miaka said. She looked at Suboshi. "I'm surprised that you think following a man possessed by a demon is a good choice. Didn't Nakago teach you anything in the Shijintenchisho?"

She hissed, clutching her side, as the scepter of Kutou thudded into her stomach.

"You speak too much," the demon said, standing over her with a bit of a leer. "I've wanted to meet you for a long time, Miaka Yuuki. Your story interests me. You aren't from this world, are you?"

She struggled against the imprisoning grasp of the scepter, refusing to answer.

"Oh, but you haven't really come to terms with the fact that you're forever trapped in this world, your husband dead, and your life already ruined before it's barely started, have you, little Miaka? I know your secret!"

"What secret?" She was breathing fast now.

"You couldn't care less about the survival of this world anymore, now that your lover is gone and your best friends have forgotten you."

"I _do_ care about this world!" Miaka cried.

"But your deepest desire, the thing you want most now in all the universe – short of your lover's return – is to return to your own world. Deny it, and you lie."

She could not deny it. She wetted her lips, thinking of Keisuke, of Yui, of her old school and her classmates within it. Did her mother miss her now? Had her absence been noticed? The demon's red eyes bored into hers, filling her with nameless horror.

"Such a tragedy," demon and emperor murmured. "Even if you do succeed on your little journey – even if you manage to gather the scepters and summon the gods - you would never be able to return to your world."

"I don't believe you," she said.

"Poor thing," he murmured. "I suppose Taiitsukun never told you. Don't worry, darling. I'm here to put you out of your misery."

She lifted her chin.

"Get the hell away from me!"

He stroked her cheek with a finger. She tried to bite it.

"But I owe you such a great deal, Suzaku no Miko," he said, studying the appendage. "Did Taiitsukun also fail to tell you the role you played in permitting the Underworld's newfound freedom?"

Miaka had never felt so cold in her life.

She glanced out at the battle, because there was nothing else she could do to take her mind off her misery. It did not help. _Fool_, she thought. Nakago would not be saving her. For all she could tell, he was mortally wounded already.

"The gods keep the underworld at bay," the demon murmured in her ear, and she was unable to tune him out, no matter how hard she tried not to listen. "When the gods are gone, this world becomes our playground. But do not fear; these are only the preliminaries, and you will not be alive to see the rest of the carnage."

"Kill her now," Suboshi said, with a beautiful smile. He was near dancing. His eyes glittered with an excitement that left her sick and wanting to cry.

"Yes," said the Emperor. "I believe it is time."

Demon and emperor raised the staff high and brought it down in a blow meant to crush Miaka's windpipe.

-v-

For an instant, Miaka thought of dying.

She saw the scepter descend, saw it flash as it caught the dying sunlight from the window.

The same force that had compelled her to live in the mountains of Hong-Nan flared within her, blazing out from somewhere deep in her chest. She was seventeen, and her life would not, could not be ended now, pounded out by the gold mallet that was the scepter of Kutou.

She did the only thing she could do and rolled, pulling herself to her feet. The staff hit the floor with a clang harsh enough to drive sparks through the air. She could not rest but was forced to keep moving; she tried to escape and found her way blocked by Suboshi's feet.

His blow caught her off guard, but she used the force of it to carry her back toward the emperor, ducking another blow from the staff. Now that she had decided she wanted to live, it seemed almost simple. With a cry of rage, she barreled into the Emperor's knees headfirst. So unexpected was her attack, emperor and demon actually fell, and Miaka landed on top of him with a surprised grunt.

The Emperor's body was unused to strenuous activity. Even with the demon's help, his grip on the staff slipped. Miaka wrested it from him, elbowing him sharply in the ribs as she struggled to her feet.

She leveled the golden end at him, baring her teeth.

There was a pause – a hiatus in sound. It was as though the entire audience chamber was holding its breath. And Miaka _saw_.

In her mind's eye, Suboshi's energy glowed like an orange streak. She looked to the demon-emperor and saw he was covered by a terrible blackness. Nakago's power, more formidable than Suboshi's, hummed to life in the far side of the antechamber.

A sudden sweeping surge of fury fill her: rage at Tamahome's death, at being trapped for days and being treated like an animal, at Suboshi's trickery, at the sheer _insolence_ of the Underworld dregs. The last emotion should have given her pause, for it was not fully her own, but she was beyond rational thought. There was a red glow around her hands, but she paid it no attention. Her gaze was fixed on the Emperor.

"Not a step closer," she said.

His chin wobbled. She smiled

From behind her, she heard a soldier's yell, saw out of the corner of her eye a heady surge of blue chi, a roar like a waterfall fill the room for some seconds. Anger filled her again, a rushing tide of fury, and she stabbed the standard forward towards the Emperor of Kutou.

Then Suboshi was there, his symbol shining on his shoulder, and he knocked the standard out of the way with a power that was far too strong to be quite human. Miaka staggered, feeling some of the anger leave her; she stared into the amber eyes, so like Amiboshi's, and she spoke in an amused voice that was almost a purr:

"_What are you doing, little warrior? Do you not wish to be a seishi again?_"

Suboshi froze, looking brittle and scared. Some of the redness left his eyes.

Miaka and Seiryu smiled, a cold smile that was full of calculating rage, and Miaka and Seiryu raised the staff again. There was a burst of red and the throne was in pieces. A dark form was rising from the Emperor, shifting, transforming.

"_Stop_."

"You won't win!" shrieked the demon. "Before you can meet your quest this land will be crawling with demons. That's Tenkou's promise!"

Seiryu and Miaka growled. The staff, leveled in the demon's direction: a second later, a flash of light, and the amorphous form was only ash.

Only Suboshi's quivering husk, and the cowering figure of the Emperor remained. Miaka turned toward the Emperor, feeling another rush of fury start again deep in her chest. It was fury, pure, unadulterated anger for the Emperor's treatment of his seishi, and it left her gasping. She would consider the implications of it later; that Seiryu, god of war, could actually feel any kind of rage in the defense of another must mean that he loved his seishi in his own, distorted way. At the moment, it did not matter. There was only his anger – the god's anger: a purpose to be fulfilled.

But a hand dropped upon her wrist as she lifted the staff. She whirled, snarling like the beast-god possessing her body – looked up into eyes of ice blue.

"_He _is mine," said Nakago coldly. The _kokoro _symbol was bright on his forehead. It was he who had caused the earlier explosion.

_"As you wish,"_ said Miaka and Seiryu.

Miaka felt the anger begin to ebb from her veins. She dropped the staff. Light, power, air, sound: everything retreated, leaving the room dimmer. For no reason at all, she felt like sobbing.

Nakago dropped Miaka's arm, eyes narrowing.

The hall was a shambles. The blast of power she had felt had not been imagined. It had been a carefully-orchestrated explosion that rendered Nakago's attacker's immobilized. Miaka hoped that most of the soldier's lying on the ground were merely knocked out and not dead.

"Gods help us," she murmured, dropping to her knees.

"Kill him!" said the Emperor to Suboshi. "Slay Ayuru!"

Miaka did not turn around, but heard the tremble in his voice and knew he was shaking. Weak man, she thought, without his soldiers or his demon to help him.

Suboshi hovered. Miaka saw his eyes dart briefly toward Nakago, and then away.

"What are you waiting for?" said the Emperor.

Nakago swept past Suboshi without a word. Silently, he faced the Emperor. His lip was curling.

"I wasn't going to kill you," said the Emperor. "I meant only to frighten you –"

"Be silent."

"He was possessed," said Miaka. "I don't know if –"

Nakago spared her a single impassive glance before he stabbed the Emperor through the heart.

* * *

Well, folks, we're coming upon the end of Part I. Part II begins soon and is twice as long as Part I and pretty much already written, so stay tuned. Thank you so much for all of your support, and especially to _AGrandMalfunction, Marguerite Lily, Broken Ink Bottles, Desert Renaissance, midnight blue08 _and _megumisakura_. I should be better about replying from now on – we've been on vacation, which means I've been in a dial-up zone a lot, which basically means no internet unless I'm really, really desperate.

Also, kudos to _AGrandMalfunction_ for predicting the name of this chapter!

* * *

Questions from you:

**Suboshi spied didn't he? How in the world did omniscient Nakago miss that?**

Nakago's big mistake was not to notice that the Emperor had regained his memories a few months back (and was possessed by a demon to boot)! The demon is really what screwed Nakago over – it was a fairly powerful being, able to conceal its energy signature at will, which is why Nakago didn't sense it, but it was able to psych Miaka out. If the demon _hadn't_ possessed the Emperor, then the emperor would have been far too weak-minded to conceal the fact that his memories had returned and Nakago would have known immediately. Nakago realized that Suboshi was up to something, but he thought it was just minor mischief (i.e. the Ashitaire thing) and didn't suspect the emperor's involvement.

**How will Nakago react when he finds out Miaka isn't a virgin?**

He already knows.

* * *

Question from me:

Did the battle go by too fast?

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except possibly an obnoxious demon or two. Everything else is the property of Yuu Watase.


	9. In the end

**...**

**IX**

**In the end**

**...**

Miaka tried not to retch. Splinters of the throne's remains drove deep into her palm as she clutched it. Suboshi's mouth was open. They could both hear the sounds of the Emperor's dying – a choked, rattle of breath, almost like a sob. They were close, Nakago and the Emperor, so that they almost could have been embracing if not for the red-coated steel that protruded from the Emperor's back.

It was a scene she did not want to watch but had to, like the violent scenes at theaters – but this was no performance. As blood dripped from the Emperor's mouth, Miaka wrapped her arms around herself. She did not want to watch Nakago's expression, afraid to see him enjoying the sight of the Emperor's death, but that was something she had to notice, too.

He spoke, so softly that Miaka would not have heard if the stillness in the room had not been absolute.

"Do you remember the Hin people?"

The words unlocked a memory in Miaka – a staircase, a Sairou temple, and Seiryuu's summoning; Chichiri, crying out a question to Nakago on a staircase to the roof. _What loyalty have you to Kutou?_

Nakago did not speak again. There was blood all around them, splashes of it on the tiles and hangings and the remains of the Emperor's chair, on her hands, on Nakago's cheek from his earlier fight. His eyes above the blood were triumphant and ice cold - she saw the triumph and shivered, but even as she watched, it faded away, replaced by a harsh and immutable blankness.

Perhaps her gaze drew his notice. Perhaps her eyes showed accusation or shock or dismay. For when the Emperor's final breath had ceased to rattle in his blood-stained chest, Nakago raised his head toward her and said:

"I have slain perhaps a thousand men in my lifetime who deserved death less than the Emperor of Kutou."

"I know," she whispered, hating the way her voice seemed to shake as she spoke the words. "I didn't mean –"

But she couldn't finish the sentence because she didn't know what she hadn't meant; her voice faltered and broke, and she took a step backward as he met her eyes.

"You were going to kill him before I intervened," he said.

"I…"

She tried to calm the churning in her stomach, looking sickly at the wreckage that surrounded her. _I did this_. She had killed the demon. She would have killed the Emperor too, had Nakago not interfered. She remembered the terrible rage that was Seiryuu and bent her head to mask her horror.

She felt a breeze strike her face and Nakago was beside her with a suddenness that made her heart pound. He grasped her by the shoulders, almost bruising. She gasped and struggled, the old memory of Hokkan rushing to the surface.

"Let _go!_"

He loosened his grip slightly, but his glare was so intense that it was almost worse than the press of his hands on her skin.

"How were you able to channel Seiryuu?" he said. "Tell me."

"I don't know!" Miaka said. "I shouldn't have been able to. Tamahome and I were – were _married_."

"You are not a virgin. Then the rules and laws that have governed the Shijintenchisho for millennia are weakening – or perhaps, in this world, they are shattered because the gods never existed to begin with."

"I don't understand," said Miaka. "The demon said that the Underworld was gaining strength – that he wished to relay a message from someone named Tenkou…"

The news did not seem to please him.

"They intend to stop me from my quest, I think," said Miaka. Her memories of her time possessed by Seiryuu were hazy. She sensed that she would have to go through them later, at her own leisure. "But Seiryuu," she murmured, staring at his forehead; his mark had faded when she dropped the staff. "The seal on Seiryuu is no longer –"

Nakago's eyes searched the distance for a moment. She sensed he was trying to call up his powers, trying and failing.

"Seiryuu is still sealed."

"Then the demons…"

The demons were still in control, and she had only stopped them temporarily by channeling Seiryuu.

Nakago released her. He regarded the fallen body of the Emperor coldly. The dark crimson flood from the Emperor's wound had ceased its spread across the marble mosaic tile, but Nakago did not remove the blade to clean it. "Your problem, Suzaku no Miko," he said, "not mine."

She bowed her head to not let the tears show, but knew he probably sensed them anyway.

"Your standard," he said, offering her the item.

She looked at the thing, afraid to touch it, not wanting to feel again that surge of rage that had overpowered her. "You serve an angry god," she said.

"And you a soft one, Miko of Suzaku." His eyes narrowed; she marveled at his ability to look dispassionate when there were flecks of red streaking his clothes. A jagged gash on his arm dripped blood sluggishly. "_Take it,_ miko."

To her relief, she felt nothing when the staff touched her palm.

"Miaka?" said Suboshi.

She regarded him for a moment, something close to pity touching her eyes. Half-insane, demon-tricked and barely more than a child – he seemed terribly young and fragile to her eyes, perilous but vulnerable, easily bent to another's will. She saw something of Tasuki in him too, in his moments of blind rage and steadfast devotion. How different, truly, were Suzaku and Seiryuu?

"I'm just trying to restore the gods to this world, Suboshi," she said. "That's all I want."

"She _is_ still alive?" whispered Suboshi. "Lady Yui?"

Yui had seen through his lack of control, had humored him, coddled him, tolerated him in his worst moments. The relationship had been one-sided – Suboshi's affections had been useful but not reciprocated – but Miaka was sure she had heard a tiny part of Yui shatter when Suboshi died and vanished on the streets of Tokyo.

"I saw her in our own world last," said Miaka. The encounter had been in a dream, but Suboshi didn't need to know that. "She was… content."

She turned to Nakago.

"What happens now?" she asked him, looking at the lifeless body. "Do I remain your prisoner, until the demons' forces return to obliterate me?"

"You are under no obligation to stay," said Nakago. "I have no desire to have demons at my doorstep."

_You will never be returned to your own world, no matter if you restore the gods._

She bit her lip. "I guess you are Emperor of Kutou now," she said, trying not to stare at the former Emperor's corpse. She caught Nakago's eyes and narrowed her own. "I cannot allow you to wage war on the people of Hong-Nan."

"How do you intend to stop me?" he asked impassively.

"I'll find a way," she said. "Hong-Nan has managed to hold you off once before without its powers. It can stop you again."

"Even if Hotohori does not remember you?" said Nakago.

"He will," she said, raising her chin. "Once I restore the gods, everyone will remember."

"Have you considered," said Nakago, looking at the Emperor, "that some memories are best left forgotten?"

She watched him and wondered – wondered at the oddness of his remark – wondered that he did not instantly jump at the chance to regain his powers, as he would have done once.

"The people need their gods," she said. "And they need their seishi."

"I can help you," said Suboshi, looking miserable.

Miaka wondered how badly Nakago would punish him.

"Where is your brother?" she said.

"I have no brother anymore," said Suboshi. "He died the day his memories were erased."

She remembered the memory drug of the villagers – how she wished for some now! But even that could not block out the things that had had made their most powerful impression on a person – they could not erase a half of a whole.

"He _will_ remember you," said Miaka, with certainty. "You ought to find him."

Suboshi stared at her. "But," he murmured.

"The wish was my mistake," said Miaka. "And this is my burden."

Nakago glanced down at her.

"Then go," he said.

-v-

And so ends Part I. Part II is written and will be coming soon, so stay tuned! I'll probably be updating either weekly or biweekly from now until end of summer. Thank you so much to _AGrandMalfunction, Marguerite Lily, Broken Ink Bottles, Alcestis, driorianos, midnightblue08, _and_ megumisakura_! I really appreciate any sort of feedback, questions, suggestions, etc – even if it's just 'this is crap, fix it!'

I just realized that I've been spelling Seiryuu wrong throughout this story. And nobody bothered to point this out? :-P Since I'm too lazy to change it for the chapters already posted, I'm just going to fix it going forward and hope nobody is too offended by my spelling foibles.

Oh dear, I seem to have started something with this Q/A thing –grin-. I'll try not to give too much away:

**Were the powers of all the seishis reawakened or just the Seiryuu's?**

Just the Seiryuu seishis' powers.

**How on earth did Seiryuu inhabit Miaka's body? Miaka isn't a virgin…**

Ah, good catch. As you see, Nakago has a theory… but it's not entirely correct. The real reason comes up later.

**How long were Miaka and Tamahome married, and how did he die?**

A couple months. Cause of death will be revealed later. (This seems to be my cop-out answer… lol)

**Are their powers permanently back? **

Nope! Their powers left as soon as Miaka stopped channeling Seiryuu.

**What happens now? Will they go elsewhere?** **Are Nakago and Miaka going to, er, ya know, bond a little over this, or is Nakago still likely to do the hedgehog thing (in, of course, a manner far more graceful than any hedgehog!)?**

Read on and see! …Although, really, it's Nakago - can you imagine him doing anything else? ;)

**A word on Miaka's OOC/IC-ness:**

A couple people have brought this up in reviews, so I thought I would comment on it because the subject interests me.

In some ways, I think Miaka's seishi were a little too protective. The Miaka of this story has lost Tamahome, and she no longer can rely on her seishi to come to her rescue. She's forced to rely solely on herself, and she's still struggling with the guilt of her flawed wish and Tamahome's death. That would toughen and harden pretty much anyone, even someone as optimistic as Miaka.

I don't think this Miaka is necessarily different from what Watase's could have become, had she been put through similar circumstances. Watase's Miaka also displayed determination and recklessness in the face of an opponent. What potentially distinguishes this Miaka from Watase's Miaka – hence leading to the flawed wish which set off this story – is, I think, a slightly heightened concern for her own survival. (Perhaps this makes her more of a normal person?)

Okay… must stop, before the author's note becomes longer than the actual chapter.


	10. Part II: Here it comes again

**...**

**Prelude**

**...**

The Wanderer's Inn was accustomed to travelers and brawlers, but few of its customers were lone women, and even fewer were lone women with no name.

The woman with no name did not know this, and had she known she would not have cared. She drank, and she ate, and she nursed her wounds – the blue-purple bruise on her left cheekbone was hopeless, but the slash on her arm could be bound and cleaned. She was weak from the loss of her power, and there was a pounding through her head like a muted drum.

The innkeeper's wife was not in, but the innkeeper had a room, and the nameless woman had money from her earlier fight – enough money to support one room or five.

"Where am I?" she said, and when the innkeeper named a town Soi didn't know, and Kaen knew but not quite where, the woman with no name murmured, "All right."

The inn was warm, and her guard was down, and she was Kaen and nodding off over her meal. When the innkeeper bade her to take more to eat, she ate; when he told her where to go to find her room, she stood; and when there was no room, only darkness and pain, she cursed herself twice over before she slipped into oblivion.

* * *

**...**

**X**

**Here it comes again**

**...**

On the morning of her departure from the Kutou palace, Miaka overslept gravely. The clock had struck eleven when she woke, frantic and unhappy and in a tearing hurry to depart. It was a poor beginning to the second epic journey of her life, but sleep had not come easily to her the previous night. She packed in a rush and left in a state of high disorder, alone but for the company of her horse and some blankets.

From the high tower window that overlooked the palace grounds, Nakago saw the Suzaku no Miko ride from the palace walls at near gallop, as though terrified that she would once again be captured by his guards and restrained. Her hair streamed in the breeze, and her arms were bare despite the chill.

The rain began scarce five minutes after she departed, a steady, soaking downpour. Minutes later, a stablehand brought to Nakago's attention that the scepter leaning forgotten against the stable wall had likely belonged to the departed Suzaku no Miko.

The stables were empty, and it was painfully easy to locate the scepter of Kutou, pitiful and abandoned in the dirt next to the stable gate. Nakago studied the scene, listening for a moment to the snorting and chewing of animals surrounding him, before reaching forward. As he bent, something small and blue caught his eye, half-crushed by the scepter's weight, vibrant in the dim stable light.

-v-

Nakago had sometimes wondered, after meeting this-world's Kaen, how it was that his self in this world had accepted its memories so quickly. He had months ago concluded that the similarities between his two selves were what had allowed the memories had been painlessly integrated into his psyche. What differences remained between his Shijintenchisho self and this world's Ayuru were normally slight enough that his Shijintenchisho memories rose dominant –yet occasionally he was aware of these differences, and pondered them.

Their paths had been similar until the desecration of his village at the age of eleven. Without his powers, this world's Ayuru had not brought about his mother's death in a violent burst of destruction. Instead, the two had been captured by Kutou soldiers – she, raped and used and beaten, and he, powerless to stop it (as he had been powerless to stop every other horror inflicted on the tribe by Kutou).

He had found another way to bring on his mother's death, through the sickness that struck him, and later, her. She had cared for him to the point of breaking – given all her food and kept a few bites for herself, and she was struck down with the same fever before Ayuru knew what had been done. Her death was his guilt, as it had been Nakago's.

But he had sat by her deathbed, something that Shijintenchisho Nakago had never managed to do. She was delirious, stricken with fever, nonsensical to the point of madness. She murmured lies and gibberish, walked back to her happy childhood days – before his birth, before the tribe spurned them. "I want to tell you about your father," she murmured, for she had promised that day, before the blood and flame and fire, before the entire world had collapsed around them, but there had been no time since then to talk. "I want to tell you about your father."

"What about my father?" said Ayuru, and she rolled over – so feverish (she was going to die the next day) and she mumbled for water and would not answer when he pressed her. But there was one word that she did repeat, over and over through the night, as she clutched his hand and shivered on the bed:

"Lanxing."

She had died the next morning and only later, years later, had learned what the name meant – that it belonged to a blue flower that grew in the lands ruled by Gi Koyuu - a rare, wood blossom with a bloom cycle of five years. He knew of no medicinal significance to the flower, no value save its rarity and beauty, and that the flower's color was the shade of his eyes, cerulean. The meaning of the word, its purpose on his mother's lips: that remained a mystery, one that likely would ever go unsolved.

But as he touched the spot on which the scepter had lain, brushing away the dirt and muck and filth with his fingertips to reveal the burst of blue petals in the pattern of a star, Ayuru had to wonder.

-v-

What had in the Shijintenchisho been the temple to Seiryuu, was only a part of the garden, and the rain was rotting the fallen cherry blossoms on the ground.

Nakago stood in the shadow of the cherry tree and waited. It was not a long wait.

_Later than I expected, Nakago._

The voice shivered through his mind like a breeze of ice, but Nakago did not flinch. He reclined against the cherry tree, arms at his sides. It was a guarded position, but it appeared a relaxed one. "Your attempt to kill me in the Emperor's palace was premature, my Lord."

_I merely wished to assess your strength,_ said Tenkou. _I have no need for a weak servant, nor for one who would betray me._

"And your assessment?"

Nakago spoke the words casually, but one hand was on his sword hilt. It was not out of the question that Tenkou would call a physical attack upon him, should he step falsely.

_Your current lack of seishi powers makes you vulnerable…_

The words trailed off lazily, laden with suggestion.

"You insult me." Nakago spoke coldly. "Only a fool or a weakling would be persuaded to share his soul with one of your demons, Tenkou. Do you believe me as weak-minded as the Emperor of Kutou?

"I have a better solution than killing the Suzaku no Miko." His eyes glittered above his smile, which was almost derisive. "Let her live."

_Explain._

"The Suzaku no Miko is broken," said Nakago. "Her weakness and guilt have brought her towards the edge of sanity. Already she has found herself close to murder. A shove – a nudge in the proper direction – could suffice to drive her over the edge entirely.

"Taiitsukun's most beloved – twisted to become your greatest weapon, your consort, your pet – anything my lord desires." He allowed his eyes to drift lazily across the courtyard. A smile touched his lips. He could have been mocking or sincere. "An interesting game, don't you agree?"

_You always were fond of toying with prey, but I did not take you for a fool. _There was a sneer in his voice that was like rotten meat, a raw edge to his voice that grated on the mind. _The Suzaku no miko cannot even enter Hell in her current state. Do you believe her an appropriate target for corruption?_

Nakago smiled, as though to a joke Tenkou was not privy to. "She is, and she will fall, in the end. I shall win her trust, and twist her guilt to our advantage – without her even aware of our intent."

_And in exchange?_

The sweet scent of rot pervaded the courtyard. The air was ripe with it – decrepit and brown and ugly. Mould was starting to gather on the stone seat behind the azalea blossoms.

"You know what I want," Nakago said, impassive.

_Your seishi powers back,_ Tenkou purred. _A place at my side when I rule the earth. Predictable, but fitting for someone of your ambitions. I could give you your powers back now, if you will accept a demon... Otherwise your powers will not be returned until I am freed._

Nakago said nothing, though his eyes narrowed slightly.

_And how, _said Tenkou lazily, _do you suppose to accomplish what you seek to do without my aid, or the aid of your powers?_

"I am halfway there already," said Nakago, "and as for the other half… the miko forgot a good deal in her hurried departure from Kutou. It is not hard to twist someone into trusting you – particularly not one so naïve as a priestess from a foreign world."

Unspoken on the air lay the shadow of Yui Hongo, Seiryuu no Miko, Priestess of Darkness, complicit and broken and nearly a murderess. One miko was, after all, much like another.

Nakago sensed Tenkou testing the idea of Miaka's corruption in his mind, coldly coming to terms with it. Tenkou's presence bore about it a thinly-disguised greed – greed for Taiitsukun's destruction, for the collapse of the gods, for his own ambitions. Tenkou was powerful, but underneath it his power he was still a man, and he lusted for things men desired: power, destruction, revenge. He chafed against the bonds imposed on him by Taiitsukun and the gods of the living. Against Hell and its constraints. The miko's corruption would be a worse blow to his enemies than her death. So it was decided.

Tenkou's assent shuddered through Nakago's skull like the aftershock of an earthquake. It was not to be flinched at. Nakago did not. A hint of hesitation would destroy him, for Tenkou approved but not truly – a hint of doubt was there. Tenkou was a man, and he knew fear, as well as greed.

Tenkou watched Nakago leave, as well as any trapped spirit that was capable only of mental communication with the physical world could _watch_ the departure of a servant, and he chuckled, low and cold.

You have a lot of time to think in the underworld. Mostly Tenkou contemplated power, vengeance, or equally banal concepts that sent his head in giddy circles of hate and obsessive greed, which always culminated in extensive planning about escape strategies, the first thing he would do when he made it out of this hellhole, &etc. Sometimes he contemplated his hair. In the real world, Tenkou's hair had been stunning, but you could never get your hair to flow quite right in Hell. It was one of the reasons Hell was an awful place.

Sometimes though, when he was forcibly reminded of their existence, or when they proved especially useful in his extensive planning, Tenkou considered his minions. This was one of those rare times, and the minion of consideration was Nakago.

Nakago was a man that Tenkou had considered more than most in the last fifteen years, for he was Tenkou's creation, a mirror for Tenkou's ambitions. He embodied all the things that drove Tenkou – hatred, vengeance, and a cold lack of mercy. But. There was Seiryuu to be considered. Nakago was Seiryuu's child, too.

And Tenkou thought of another minion, as well, an assassin he had sent hours before, a human-possessed-demon with a cruel heart and an arrow headed straight for the hapless miko as she hid from the rain.

_Ride fast,_ _Nakago_. _You may still be worthy of being called my servant. _

A smile graced his mouth. Upper lip curled back. It was not a nice smile, for he had teeth like a cat's, spike-pointed and dangerous. And like a cat, Tenkou agreed with Nakago's philosophy on toying with one's prey before devouring it. Death was so much more exciting that way. It would be – what were those words Nakago had used so charmingly? - an interesting game to see who arrived at the miko's side first.

* * *

**Le Grand Author's Note:**

Somehow, one week turned into two, for which I am terribly sorry. Blame the combination of my new job, which is absolutely awesome but has kept me crazily busy, and my parents' love for weekend vacations. Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers – _AGrandMalfunction, Marguerite Lily, Alcestis, Broken Ink Bottles, Desert Renaissance, midnight blue08, megumisakura_!

This chapter went through a couple revisions. I think I like where it ended up. Dare I chuckle evilly? Feedback is, as always, much appreciated! Also, kudos to the first person to figure out which song the Part II chapter titles come from. ^_^ (I ran out of Gollum's Song lyrics).

**Q/A:**

**Is Miaka a true threat to Nakago ? Or is he really going to just let her walk off ?**

I think I gave a poor answer to the person who posted this question in my reviews, for which I'm sorry. I was still in the process of working out some last-minute plot details at the time, in my excuse :) Nakago doesn't see Miaka as a threat, per se... He lets her walk off because it is advantageous to him at the time, and it fits in with his overall plan.

**Will Suboshi be back?**

In Part III he will make another appearance, if my current plot plan goes as planned.

**So the only way to obliterate the demons and put an end to their hideous plan to take over was to summon the beast gods but how in the world is Miaka supposed to do it now without the help of Nakago?**

Hmmm… how INDEED… -evil cackle-

**Disclaimer:** None of this is mine, except the ever-evolving plot. All characters, settings, etc belong to the great and fabulous Yuu Watase.


	11. Cannot outrun my desire

-Cannot outrun my desire-

When the downpour began, Miaka took refuge under a tree near the road, more concerned with immediate shelter than a potential attack. Any bandit, she reasoned, would have to be quite desperate to brave this rain. And what a rainstorm it was! She crouched beneath the oak, miserably contemplating her wet clothes and her lack of a cloak. Her dejection was so complete, and the noise of rainfall so intense, that the sound of approaching horse hooves almost did not rouse her.

"You are painfully easy to trace, Suzaku no Miko."

She gasped and spun, backing away from the man who had just dismounted. He pulled back his hood, and her eyes widened further.

"Why are you here?" she said, clasping her horse's bridle as though preparing to bolt away at first opportunity.

Nakago was dry; his hooded cloak had kept out the worst of the water. He strode towards her, and the sudden gleam that lit his eyes sent a thrill of terror down her spine.

"Have you not guessed it?" he asked gently. "My offer of your release was premature, dear Suzaku no Miko. I have missed your presence at the palace."

At her expression of wordless horror, he chuckled darkly, reaching a hand out in invitation.

"You will return with me now," he said, "live out your remaining days in Kutou, bear my children –"

Paling, she slapped his cheek with as much force as she could muster. He caught her wrist before she could slap him a second time. Her entire body was trembling, but not with cold.

"After all that I – you sick –"

In her desperation, she lashed out blindly, but he evaded her ill-timed blows and drew her toward him. Her furious cry echoed through the clearing.

"Let me _go!_"

He pulled her close; he could hear the furious beat of her heart, the gasps of air that escaped her throat. She tried to hit him, but his grip on her was too tight. He was close enough to see the red splotches suffusing her pale cheeks, the soft curls of hair that framed her jaw-line. He lowered his lips to her ear and whispered:

"The years have not changed you, Suzaku no Miko. You are as much a fool now as you were then."

Shocked, she stared at him from beneath rain-drenched bangs, barely comprehending. He pushed her away from him.

"In your departure, you left the scepter at the palace. That is why I am here."

Her firsts tightened at her sides. He noticed her rage, and he laughed at it.

"Do you actually hold yourself in such high regard," said Nakago, "as to believe that I would have missed your presence at the palace?"

Her face flushed darkly.

In truth, she was too shocked at the near-loss of the scepter to retort. She was certain she had tied the scepter down to the back of her horse before her departure. That it had fallen as she departed was incomprehensible. Her hand came over her mouth, and she glanced frantically over her shoulder, where the scepter most certainly was not. Then she glanced toward _his _horse and up to his face. "Where is it now?" she said. "Please say you have it with you."

"The scepter? It remains at the palace," he told her. His smile was intentionally cruel.

Her mouth drew into an O of shock. It was with a mixture of accusation and betrayal that she regarded him. "_Bastard_."

His eyes narrowed. "While that word may be an accurate description of my parentage, to address the current Emperor of Kutou in such a manner is commonly considered treason, Suzaku no Miko."

"Arrest me as you like," she said haughtily. "Take me back to the Kutou palace. Although I do remember hearing you say that a demon infestation was not on your agenda for the _peaceful_ reign of Kutou."

He made to take her chin in his hand, but she jerked her head backward so that he was holding empty air. "Tenkou commands the most dangerous forces in the lands." His voice was disgusted. "Yet you set your camp like a child, barely having the sense to put yourself out of sight, let alone out of danger. Do you think you will last ten minutes against a demon in your current state, Suzaku no Miko?"

She flushed, even darker than possible. "Thus far I seem to have survived," she said coldly. "I made it across the mountains to Kutou; I survived the Emperor's attack."

"You were half dead when I saved you in the forest one week ago, Miko, and the chances of Seiryu stepping in to save you again are slim."

The redness of her cheeks belied her annoyance, and he thought for a moment that she would shout.

But she surprised him. The girl who had once blindly acted on temper had learned some semblance of control in the year she had been trapped outside of her home world.

"Well, then." Her voice was sardonic, matching the lift of her eyebrows. "What do _you_ suggest I do, Emperor Nakago?"

Nakago opened his mouth to reply. Something stopped him – a faint, prickling unease. His eyes narrowed. He did not need seishi powers to catch the movement in the treetops; nor the twang of a bowstring shooting its weapon.

"Down," he said, dragging the Suzaku no Miko to the ground with him before she could squeak with surprise. Miaka's horse reared, screaming. Nakago pulled the miko towards cover by the back of her dress and flung her against the nearest tree. Arrows embedded themselves in a bush, in the ground, in the oak trunk, following their motion with frightening speed.

As Miaka pressed herself against the oak bark, Nakago rolled back to his feet in a fluid motion and sent a knife spinning through the treetops. A scream pierced the clearing, followed by the sound of branches snapping under the enormous weight. A sharp thud reverberated through the air - the thud of a body crashing to earth – then a whimper, and short, gasping moans.

Nakago pulled the Kutou scepter off his horse and strolled forward. Miaka hurried after him, with nervous glances into the treetops. Her caution was comprehensible but unwarranted; had he sensed another assassin, their enemy would have been broken and bleeding on the ground like his companion. A leisurely glance showed the dagger embedded an inch left of the man's heart.

"Good aim," Miaka said flatly.

Nakago's eyes narrowed. He had been aiming for a less vital area. Interrogation now would be useless.

But the man was still alive, though his spine was twisted at a disgusting angle. He let out a soft moan, and Nakago bent low over his face, wrapping a hand around his throat. "Who sent you?" said Nakago.

The man's eyes fluttered, and he sighed a long, long breath out.

Something dark seemed to hover in the air for a moment. Nakago stepped back and slashed the air with the scepter. The dark shape dissipated.

A frown creased Nakago's brow, a slight tightening of the eyebrows that made him look dangerous.

Only one assassin. Had Tenkou meant for his demon to succeed, or had this been only a warning?

His bargain with Tenkou was precarious at best; Nakago's refusal to share his body with a demon had reinforced Tenkou's extant doubt of Nakago's fidelity. Nakago had sensed a hesitation that the demon lord may not have himself been aware he exuded; a dissatisfied mistrust, the source of which Nakago thought he knew. Whether Tenkou had sent the assassin before or after his encounter with Nakago was immaterial; the point was, the demon had been sent with the intent to kill the Suzaku no Miko, confirmation that, in Tenkou's eyes, the ice beneath Nakago's feet was very thin indeed.

Of course, there was more than one way to regain the powers that had been sealed from Nakago in this world lacking magic. The miko's dramatic transformation the previous day had brought the reminder that the restoration of the gods would mean the full restoration of the seishi. Nakago's maneuvering had ensured that this option remained open, should he choose to pursue it.

He regarded the scepter of Kutou with a cool eye, but what magic it carried had dissipated with the departure of the demon, and it was now inert and uninteresting. Doubtless the miko still believed the scepter at the Kutou palace; she had not even noticed its appearance from the back of his horse in the moment of crisis. He marveled that Taiitsukun should see fit to place the fate of the world on the shoulders of one so easily deceived.

The man possessed by Tenkou's minion was still on the ground, face contorted in a rictus of death. Had he his seishi powers he would have reduced the fallen man's corpse to a cloud of ash to destroy the evidence of their passing. Instead, he used his boot to roll the dead man onto his front.

There – again – the furl of blue petals.

Coldly, Nakago reached forward. In one swift movement, he crushed the petals between the palms of his hands.

A strong freshness, not unpleasant, enveloped the clearing. The fragrance was a combination of verbena and vanilla. It danced through the air, drifting on eddies and whispers of wind, sweetening, softening.

_Ayuru…_

He stilled.

Amidst the swish of the trees was something like a whisper – he brought the flower to his nose and the sway of branches looked for an instant like the movement of a fair woman rising from a field of flowers – smiling – blue eyes – shining lake. The beat of a heart. The rustling of memories long buried but not – quite – forgotten.

His eyes narrowed, and the mirage was gone.

The storm, which had abated, was beginning again. The scent of the flower was lost on the sharp breeze which ruffled Nakago's hair and that of the dead man on the leaf litter.

-v-

Bah, clichés. –Smacks chapter ending-

-Ahem- So there you have it. Hope that answers a couple questions. And for those of you for which it applies, I hope you're having an awesome Fourth of July weekend! And thanks so much to _Alcestis, Marguerite Lily, Broken Ink Bottles, midnight blue08, Desert Renaissance, megumisakura, _and _flaire88 _ for your reviews. Hopefully I've replied to the main points from your review comments/questions below. My capacity for individual review replies is, at the moment somewhat limited, as I tend to get REALLY busy during the week, so I hope this suffices – if there's anything else you particularly want me to address, do let me know!

-v-

**Q/A: **

**How did Soi/Kaen end up in the inn?**

To be revealed!

**Nakago is so complex…**

Well, yes. Would he be interesting if he wasn't?

**Is Nakago essentially hedging his bets at this point? Do Nakago's reasons for serving Tenkou go further than getting his powers back and a place by Tenkou's side after he conquers the world? **

Right on both counts (this chapter basically gives it away anyway, so I feel no guilt in answering…) As for the latter question, I'd argue that you are also correct – however, Nakago may not _consciously_ be aware of those other reasons at this moment…

**How did Miaka afford to actually forget and leave the scepter when she knew that that was so vital?**

She tied it on pretty tightly actually, but the ring of power, I mean the scepter of Kutou, just might be one of those objects with a mind of its own…


	12. Cover my descent

**XII**

**Cover my descent**

Miaka had retreated to the clearing, not wanting to witness the outcome of any interrogation that transpired. No matter that she was able to conceal her thoughts with an air of nonchalance; the sight of another's death could still disturb her. A memory of Chiriko's death filled her mind and sent her spine to shivering. She did not want to think about the man who played host to the demon and what would become of him.

When Nakago returned, she was alternately tying knots around her tent and shaking the wet from her hair in a futile effort to dry it.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"The man died before any useful information could be obtained."

Miaka jerked her head in a brief nod, the wash of relief making her guilty. The movement caused a dark feathered line to catch her eye, and she turned towards the arrow, eyes brightening. Nakago stepped forward, but not before Miaka had wrapped a hand around the shaft that had embedded itself into the nearby tree, intending to break it off to get a better look at its feathers.

With a faint hiss, the arrow evaporated into a cloud of black smoke that burned and smelled acrid as steam from a paper plant. Gasping, Miaka stuck her stinging fingers in her mouth and turned to stare at Nakago, who wore an impassive expression. He examined the remaining arrows, careful not to touch them.

"It's not safe here," Miaka said.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed in anticipation of his scathing retort. He would say "Your powers of perception, are astounding as always, Miko" or "Do you really think so?" She would flush red and shout. The rain would continue to fall and drench her, as he remained immaculately dry in his damn cloak.

She was cold, tired of Nakago, exhausted with the rain and her barely-begun mission. Her eyes were tracing the mud that sloshed in wet runnels around her feet. Nakago was watching her, but she did not feel up to seeing the ice in his eyes.

"Yes?" she said, eyes on her shoes.

Still he said nothing, a horrible amount of nothing. Miaka wanted to squirm, to hoist her pack higher over her shoulder and push past him and make up for lost time – except she still did not have the scepter. She raised her eyes to meet his, but he was no longer watching her; his gaze was on the trees, but he did not seem to be seeing these either.

"Get on the horse."

The words he spoke were impassive, but she sensed the cool deliberation underneath. His eyes were gray and glacial and calculating. Miaka's hands clenched at her sides. She was almost afraid to say the words, but she said them anyway, as rainwater ran in runnels down her face:

"My horse was shot. He ran off; even if we find him, I don't think he can carry me."

Nakago inclined his head at his own animal. Her eyes widened further.

"What about my pack?" she said.

He did meet her eyes then, and she stiffened at the mocking coldness of his expression. His eyes told her that she should forget her pack, or any of the comforts she had grown fond of while in a semblance of civilization.

"Where are we going?"

"To Hong-Nan," said Nakago.

"But the scepter of Kutou –"

He raised an eyebrow, and slowly her eyes were drawn to what he grasped – had, in fact, been grasping since they were attacked.

"You had the scepter with you all this time," said Miaka, in tones of pure outrage. "You _lied_ to me!"

He regarded her with what might have been disgust. She felt impossibly stupid. She had _seen_ him pull it off his horse before striding into the woods to attack the downed assassin, even if her eyes had not registered it at the time.

"You were a fool to leave it behind," said Nakago. "Next time you will not be so lucky."

Too tired to glare, she pushed her wet hair out of her eyes with a grimace. The chill had deepened though the rain was abating, and she shivered slightly, running her hands across her pale lips.

Something soft and miraculously dry landed in her lap. Caught off-guard, Miaka stared at it numbly. "What's this?" she murmured. Familiar patterns on the fabric teased her eye; her eyes narrowed as she lifted it up.

"The servant who saw you leave informed me you had not brought protection against the elements," Nakago said. "As I have not been able to find a use for this cloak due to its inadequate repair –"

Cheeks glowing with fury, Miaka flung the cloak over her shoulders, pulling it into a knot so tight she almost cut off the circulation in her neck. "Will our entire journey to Hong-Nan be colored with a running commentary of my inadequacies?" she said sharply.

"I can certainly oblige you."

He swung himself onto the saddle behind her. She stiffened slightly.

"We will find a second mount when we reach the next town," he said.

Perhaps he was being considerate, or perhaps he found the idea of sharing a horse as distasteful as she. Miaka suspected the latter; the thought of Nakago possessing a sympathetic aspect ran contrary to all she knew of him. The image of Nakago's sword slicing through the Emperor's flesh still replayed in grim detail whenever she closed her eyes.

It chilled her, the thought of Nakago accompanying her on this mission. She was utterly alone with the man whose actions had resulted in the destruction of half of her seishi, who had controlled and manipulated her best friend, whose games at Hokkan had seared invisible scars across her mind and heart.

As with her capture, she did not have a choice. Short of escaping in the dead of night, she was trapped.

"Why?" she mumbled, on the edge of sleep. "Why are you here, Nakago?"

He leaned closer, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her pulling her chin toward him. Her eyes flew open as she felt his breath on her cheek; their faces were inches apart, and she was suddenly, frigidly awake. "Is it not obvious, Suzaku no Miko?" Nakago said, laughing, eyes like blue flames. "I live to make your life a nightmare."

The sound of her slap reverberated through the trees.

-v-

She had fallen into an uneasy slumber by the time they reached the town. Nakago roused her by leaning close to her ear and whispering, "Sleep well, Suzaku no Miko?"

Only his strong grip kept her steady on the horse. He muffled her shriek against his palm.

"Be silent," said Nakago, as Miaka continued to squirm, attempting to lash out with the arm that was pinned against her side. "It was my impression that we were attempting to escape unnecessary attention."

Some of the tension went out of her body. She swiveled her head and caught his eye in a glare caustic enough to poison. He released the hand from her mouth.

"Did you think that was _funny_?" she hissed, still trying to calm her heart, which was pounding like an elephant on a racetrack.

The slight curve of his mouth was answer enough to her question. "Wonderful," said Miaka.

Her neck and shoulders were sore – a product of extreme tenseness, her close proximity to Nakago, and the extraordinarily awkward position of her slumber. Her head had been almost on the horse's mane to keep as far from Nakago as possible. Her hair smelled like horse now – cold, sodden horse – from the way her bangs had scraped the mare's mane. She hoped the inn had a bathing room.

From the outside, the Wanderer's Inn at Arun did not seem a disreputable place. That relieved Miaka, who was exhausted and hungry as wolves in winter. Suddenly, more than a bath, she hoped the inn supplied dinner. It seemed eons since she had eaten. Darkness was falling already; Amiboshi's constellation twinkled low in the sky. "I hope we haven't missed it," she said. "Dinner," she added, before Nakago could remark upon the imprecision of her pronouns.

"I am sure it will be to your satisfaction."

Nakago dismounted and led the horse to the stables. With a nervous glance toward the empty street, Miaka followed him. Suddenly worried, she glanced at the royal scepter she carried. It was gold, almost her own height, and glittering with power. It cried out to be stolen.

In the end, she wrapped the entire object in a blanket and slung it across her back. It seemed almost irreverent, but better forlorn and in cloth wrapping than in enemy hands.

-v-

Nakago was on the alert as they entered the inn. Although he had left his armor in the stable, he inevitably stood out with his height and fair hair, and the other inn customers looked up as they made their way toward the innkeeper's counter. There was an air of mistrust about the room, a sense of grim unease that left Nakago's hand hovering near his sword. The Suzaku no Miko seemed oblivious to their stares, but she was not receiving near as much attention as he. She had packed away her schoolgirl garments long ago for more traditional dress. Those of the town would have still said there was something _different_ about her, in that vague sense that you sometimes can tell when someone from another country is different – in terms of accent, for instance, or manner of speech – but she did not seem a threat to them.

The innkeeper's counter was concealed in the alcove near the stairs, out of sight of the inn proper. Consequently, the innkeeper and his wife could not see the travelers as they approached, but the Miaka and Nakago could hear them perfectly. This was not because sound carried particularly well in the Wanderer's inn, but because the innkeeper and his wife were speaking loudly enough to wake the dead.

Miaka had always felt guilty listening to strangers. It was something her mother had always told her not to do. Generally, she considered it somewhat rude. But the innkeeper's wife was talking as though she wanted to be heard, belting angry remarks at her husband like an actress on stage.

"Of _course_ you should have turned her away last night! She had no money, and you know any _respectable_ woman wouldn't travel alone –"

The inn's guests, Miaka realized, were loving the show. They had fallen silent, and she was sure that some of the older women seated around the institution were silently cheering the wife on. It made Miaka feel slightly sick.

"Pengua!" Unlike his wife, the husband spoke in quieter tones, in a voice reproving or ashamed. "With the recent raids, so late at night, she would surely have been captured."

"Well, to _my _knowledge, there's no respectable girl in this area as goes by the name of Haku Kaen."

The hand Nakago had been resting on his sword hilt tensed.

"I checked with the headsman today," said the innkeeper's wife loudly. "There's no one who goes by that name within a crow's flight of us. And I _won't_ have you letting bad women into my house again, you know how the townspeople talk…"

"Nakago?"

He cast a cold glance at the miko, and then stepped up to the counter. Innkeeper and wife glanced toward him in one movement, looking startled. The room let out a collective sigh, as though annoyed by the cessation of their entertainment. Nakago did not spare a glance for the room's other occupants. In a fluid motion he laid money on the counter, pushing it toward the heads of the establishment. Miaka's eyes widened; she was sure the innkeeper's did as well.

"We require a room," Nakago said, in a lazy soft voice, "and no questions."

Miaka's eyes, no longer locked on the gold coins upon the counter, darted up to search Nakago's face. _A _room? One room? Singular? Either that meant that one of them was not going to sleep at the inn that night, or she would be sharing the same room with Nakago. And in this world, rooms usually had one bed, not two. What the _hell_ was he _thinking_?

"_Two_ rooms, actually."

She blurted the words, no longer looking at Nakago, but staring brightly at a spot somewhere just to the left of the innkeeper's face.

The innkeeper's wife looked hesitant. Her eyes darted searchingly between Nakago and Miaka. She seemed suspicious, almost frightened. "_Two_ rooms, Sir?"

Nakago shot Miaka a cool, amused stare. It was a look she had seen often on Yui's face, a look that said, 'You-got-us-into-this-mess-now-get-us-out'. On Yui's face it was usually lovingly exasperated; on Nakago's face it seemed measuring, possibly annoyed. Really, Miaka thought with some irritation, Nakago deserved to be on the receiving end of that look far more than she did.

"We're siblings by marriage," she told the innkeeper, not wishing to prolong the awkward silence that surrounded them at the inn's counter. "His wife – my sister – is ill, and he's taking me to see her. We only need the rooms for one night."

Nakago listened to the lie, coolly silent. Perhaps the girl did have a brain, or perhaps her desperation for their relationship to not be misconstrued was taking her to new levels of inventiveness. She had lied quickly, which made Nakago wonder if she had put this lie to use before, perhaps while traveling with her seishi.

"Well," said the innkeeper's wife. "…Well."

"Please."

And then Miaka flashed her most charming smile at the innkeeper and his wife, sent it shooting across the small desk that separated them. Her last weeks had been marred by grief and fractured by despair, but somehow that smile survived – sadder, dimmer than before, but still possessing a certain luminous brilliance. Perhaps the tinge of grief that hung about her features added to her beauty.

The innkeeper muttered, "Ahhh!" and blinked, rubbing his cheeks as though momentarily dazzled. His self-righteous wife murmured, "Of course."

"Thank you," said the miko sincerely.

Silently, Nakago watched the display. He had witnessed this side of the Suzaku no Miko once before: when escorting her to the palace of Kutou for the very first time. Then, she had had been almost ludicrously naïve, trusting to a fault. Now, she was less trusting, but still her words held a sincerity that made common folk believe her – protect her – almost worship her. Did she know her power, the Suzaku no Miko? As the innkeeper tripped on the stairs in his hurry to determine which adjacent rooms were now free, and the miko rushed to help him, Nakago decided she did not.

He could afford little time for such contemplation. At the innkeeper's return, Nakago stepped toward the man and placed a cool hand on his shoulder. He could feel no demonic energy from this man, but it did not hurt to be certain. He spoke in a low voice, audible only to the innkeeper's ear, a voice that was designed to intimidate and to caution:

"Should any harm come to… my wife's sister… my displeasure would be great."

He let his finger linger on the hilt of his sword, just long enough for the gesture to become obvious to the innkeeper, whose dark eyes blinked assent. Then he was turning, making for the miko who was already half-through a bowl of sweet rice that had somehow materialized on the table before her, as food had a habit of doing around her.

"Miko."

"Wha?" She looked up through a mouthful of food, reddened, and swallowed, dusting her mouth with a napkin.

Nakago grasped her free hand and pressed something against it; she opened her fingers to find a small offering of gold coins – half of a handful, but enough to keep an ordinary townsperson supported for a year.

"You would be wise to keep these out of sight." He closed her fingers around the coins once more, and, seeing that she continued to gape like a beached fish, placed a finger beneath her jaw to close it. She tried to bat his hand away, but he had already removed it. "I expect these returned," he told her in a smooth undertone, already turning toward the door to the room. "They are for emergency only, and you will not flash their presence about the inn. Eat, and then head straight to your room, and make sure the door is locked."

"But where are you going?" said the Suzaku no Miko, standing from her meal and starting toward him in surprise. "Nakago, it's past dark. Don't you need to eat…?"

He lowered his voice. "I will see that our position in the town is secure, after which I will dine and then retire. Some of us, at least, find it possible to curb our impulses until the appropriate moment."

He left her spluttering her indignation beside the innkeeper's counter.

-v-

He had not returned by the time Miaka polished off three helpings of pork an hour later. She was not worried – Nakago was more than capable of taking care of himself – but she was more than a little annoyed.

She knew Nakago's abilities. In the hour he had been gone, he could have ensured that the town was safe five times over, _and_ eaten, washed, and gone to bed.

Miaka's ears functioned as well as Nakago's. She had heard the innkeepers' snatched conversation, seen the slight tension that suffused Nakago's face when the name 'Haku Kaen' was mentioned. Nakago was excellent at remaining impassive, but on this instance, for the first time since she had met him, he had slipped up.

So. Nakago had gone to find the woman who had formerly been Soi, leaving Miaka holding the fort until morning. Had she not been in the company of the innkeeper's wife and the other townspeople, she would have crossed her arms and said, "Bah humbug!" very loudly. The fact that he had tried to leave her out of the loop bothered her far more than Nakago's purpose itself. He must truly think her an imbecile if he thought she would believe he was scouting the town for danger.

Two hours later, Miaka began to worry.

After slipping the money into her shoe, which seemed the safest place for it, Miaka had made conversation with the innkeeper's wife and female friends, who she found to be, if not utterly pleasant, at least perfectly willing to gossip after a little wine. The town, Miaka learned, had recently been living beneath a plague of bandits. "Thieves, ruffians, and the like," said Pengua.

"What do they steal?" Miaka asked, sipping a fourth bowl of soup.

"Pretty near everything." A shrug from an older woman whose name Miaka did not know. "Gold. Jewels. Young girls."

"Mm! If that man with you –"

"My brother-in-law," Miaka supplied.

"Had he not been w' such a charming girl as yourself," said the innkeeper's wife, "I would never have given him a room. We're just that mistrustful of strangers these days. Sometimes I think that this inn is the only safe place that's left."

"You can't be too careful," Miaka said blandly.

Compulsively, she checked the scepter next to her. The inn's remaining guests suddenly seemed colder – shiftier – dangerous…

She was being foolish. She really ought to go to bed. Waiting up for Nakago wasn't going to make him come back faster. He would scoff when he returned. _If _he returned_. _

She was struck with this sudden dark thought as she bade the innkeeper's wife a good night and made for the staircase toward the back of the dining room. Had the single room Nakago had tried to reserve with the innkeeper been intended only for her? Had Nakago intended to abandon her, to pursue his search for Soi and not actually accompany her to Hong-Nan? The gift of money, so uncharacteristic of the shogun she knew – and yet it would fit well with the picture her imagination was painting.

Her abandonment would not bother her. She told herself this as she climbed the steps to the upstairs corridor, using her scepter as a heavy sort of walking-stick. Why, just that morning, she had set out alone, with no company but her horse (which was now gods-knew-where, but that did not matter either; the money Nakago had given her would more than suffice to pay for a new mount). She did not even know Nakago's motives for accompanying her – she would certainly not miss the absence of his sarcasm, nor his coolly mocking comments. She was better off with him gone.

Still, the bastard could have _said_ something before he left.

The hall by Miaka's door was dark and deserted, and she felt a prickle of unease crackle down her spine as she made her way down it. _Easy_, she thought. She was letting her imagination run away from her. She knew she had that tendency. _Still_.

Her door – Pengua had given her explicit directions – was the very last one at the end of the hall. It would be all too easy for someone to spring out of one of the doors in a side room and take her out as she moved down the hall.

She shook herself for being ridiculous. Nakago would not have left her in such a place if he had not assessed it first.

At least, assuming he had not been too preoccupied by the mention of Haku Kaen.

Remembering the scepter, Miaka removed it from her back and clutched it before her like a shield. Slowly, she started down the hall, glancing right and left until she reached the door to her room.

Nobody attacked her.

With an exasperated sigh, she turned the door handle, pushed it open, and entered the room. She was halfway to her bed when the door slammed shut behind her.

She whirled, felt her attacker's arm constrict her neck, lashed out with her foot and contacted only air. Cloth pressed against her face, sweet-scented and cloying. She swept up her arm back to jab the scepter into her attacker's navel, inhaled, and blacked out.

-v-

Thought I'd offer up a second chapter in honor of the long weekend! I'd like to thank _Alcestis, megumisakura, Marguerite Lily, flaire88, _and_ Desert Renaissance_ for their reviews, which motivated me to post this long-ish chapter tonight. Remember: more reviews equals happier author equals faster updates!

Now for some Q/A, and then bed!

-v-

**Can we have longer chapters?**

I happen to like short chapters, because they mean less work for me (I am ridiculously lazy) and also faster updates. Also, as you've probably noticed, I've been using song lyrics as chapter titles, which I actually am quite enjoying - believe it or not, it helps me get ideas for and plan out my plot. The downside to this is that chapters sometimes end up variable lengths depending on how the lyric-phrases fit in. So, some chapters are going to be long and some are going to be short, but most of them are going to be ~2,000 words. This current one being a bit of an anomaly. (Chapters do get longer in Part III though).

**Does the fact that Miaka can't see through Nakago's teasing in the woods mean that Miaka has lost her humor and indomitable spirit?**

When she set out from the palace, Miaka was terrified that Nakago was going to change his mind and drag her back after he rather uncharacteristically released her. His arrival in the woods seems to confirm the fear that's been nagging her the entire morning – plus she's cold and wet and has never reacted particularly well to being toyed with. So I don't think that incident necessarily means Miaka's lost all of her sense of humor/happy side (or at least, not permanently) - she was just caught in a bad moment. As for indomitable spirit, she was still able to regain her cool and stand up to Nakago after he played that trick on her, so one would hope she's still got that. But I do agree that her experiences have made Miaka darker than she was in canon (sarcastically complementing Nakago on having a good aim, for instance), and this is defs going to come into play later in the story...

**Does Nakago like seeing Miaka lose her composure?**

Yes – goes along with the warped sense of humor thing.

**Will the mystery of the blue flower unravel itself on the journey? **

Yes.

**Does the blue flower symbolize hope?**

Possibly.

**Is it appearing when Nakago takes actions that will help Miaka?**

Yes, very good catch!

Also, congratulations to Marguerite Lily for correctly guessing the song ("Beauty on the Fire" by Natalie Imbruglia)!

-v-

**Disclaimer: **Neither Fushigi Yuugi nor "Beauty on the Fire" are mine. Neither, unfortunately, is Nakago. Fushigi Yuugi and Nakago belong to Yuu Watase. "Beauty on the Fire" is Natalie Imbruglia's creation.


	13. And throw the beauty on the fire

**XIII**

**And throw the beauty on the fire**

Miaka woke up.

There were mornings Miaka woke bursting with energy, eager to tackle the tasks of the day. Then there were the mornings when she drifted dazedly into consciousness and tried to punch her would-be awakener in the face.

This was the second type of morning.

She heard an agonized yell as her fist connected with something solid. It felt like a nose.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, starting upright with concern. Except the gag in her mouth turned the word into a choked "Smmmrhghf!"

Head pounding, mouth dry from the gag that compressed her tongue, Miaka looked around.

The first thing she realized was that it was not yet dawn. That would explain why she felt half-asleep. The second thing that caught her attention was the way her wrists were being forcibly restrained by a thin man with a beard like a plucked chicken. She attempted to kick him before realizing that her legs were also tied.

Judging by their surroundings, she was still in the inn, although which bedroom she was inside was anyone's guess. A female form lay to her left on the bed, motionless save for steady breathing. The woman had long black hair with a sheen half violet, high cheekbones, soft lips. Had it not been for the gag, Miaka would have gasped. Even in the dark, Soi's beauty was stunning.

"… I fink you broke my nofe!"

"Smrghf," Miaka repeated, bowing her head, but her eyes were still half-open, and she glanced right and left when she thought the man couldn't see. She was searching for the scepter, which she knew she had been holding upon capture. The fact that it was dark did not bother her; the scepter was too bright, too golden to miss. After a moment, she knew it was not there.

This officially qualified as Not A Good Day.

Miaka had nothing else to do, so she chose to study Soi. She quickly realized that watching her captor pick his nose would probably have been more interesting. Studying Soi was like watching a woman in a coma: Soi breathed, and there was a gleam of moonlight reflecting off her eyes which spoke of wakefulness, but she was not alert, and if she had heard any of the exchange between Miaka and her captor, Miaka was certainly none the wiser. In mind, Soi seemed almost dead, and every attempt Miaka made to attract her attention proved futile.

It was a pity, for Soi – no, she was Haku Kaen now – had no gag to restrain her from screaming, and no bonds on her feet. Only her hands were bound, and these loosely. Miaka wondered why these bandits had not felt the need to restrain Kaen further. Did they have no idea how _dangerous_ she was?

_Was_ she still dangerous?

Miaka wished she could fall asleep again; she could not. She wanted badly to be rid of the gag. It left a bitter taste in her mouth and reminded her too strongly of the time Miboshi had stolen her voice in the Shijintenchisho.

By the time the innkeeper entered, Miaka was so tired of watching her captor watch her, so desperate to free herself from the monotony of captivity, she would have done nearly anything – provided it did not compromise her honor or cause the deaths of too many people. She brought her incoherent mumbling to such a volume that the innkeeper said, "Take it off, and see what she has to say."

He was in charge of this operation, for no sooner had the words left his lips than the scruffy-bearded bandit was tugging the gag from her mouth. Miaka spat out the wad of cloth and swallowed a few times. A cup of water was forced between her teeth. She didn't really want to swallow, but the alternative was a very wet shirt. She took a few gulps, hoping the water wasn't drugged, and her eyes fell on the innkeeper again.

"You!" she cried, fury causing her voice to be high. "I helped you when you tripped on the stairs this evening!"

She supposed she should not have been surprised. The ones who seemed honest and kind were always the villains. Perhaps it was a rule of the universe. She would have to have a word with Taiitsukun when she finally managed to summon the gods.

"One scream," said the innkeeper, "and the gag goes back on."

"No worries," said Miaka, glaring. "I think I've got the captive role down by this point." She lifted her face, but the effect was rather ruined by the residual drip of water down her chin. "Who are you selling me to, or am I to be your personal entertainment?"

"The brothel one town over could use some new occupants," said the innkeeper, shrugging. "Or I could break you in if you prefer. _That_ one there seemed to appreciate it."

Miaka narrowed her eyes, her insides burning with rage. The magnitude of her fury almost matched the anger she had felt when holding Seiryu's staff, but she knew that this emotion was her own, and not the side effect of channeling a god.

"Aren't you a thoughtful one," she said coolly. She sensed that cold anger would serve her better than hot rage right now. The gag lay on the floor at the edge of her vision. "I'm sure your wife must be _so_ proud of you."

"She doesn't need to know a thing," said the innkeeper, with a horrible wink that left Miaka's insides churning. "Bit of extra money, say I've earned it at odd jobs. Keeps her happy, which is good for someone in my position. Sometimes I even take her to the imperial city so she can explore odd shops."

"Well, if that isn't just a charming display of marital devotion," said Miaka.

_Gods, _she thought, horrified, _I'm starting to sound like Nakago! _

Nakago had made not one, but two mistakes that night. Not only had he lied to her about his intention of searching for Kaen; he had also left her in the care of a lecherous innkeeper. She would certainly be having a word with the new Emperor of Kutou when he got around to rescuing them.

The lantern threw the innkeeper's pale face into sharp relief. She knew why she had suspected him of nothing. He did not appear demonic. He was not tall; but he was not stout either; he wore no cloak or trappings of power. His ordinary expression was the blandest of any she had seen. In the right sort of light, his eyes could almost be kind, but she knew better than to be deceived again.

He was also going to die that night, and for that she did not feel sorry at all.

He caught her eye, and she remembered her smile's earlier effect and threw one up again for additional advantage. Then she caught herself; best not make her grin too charming; the wrong idea might be stolen from it. She had survived Nakago and demons and gods, and she was not scared of this man, and that in itself was dangerous. She did not have Tamahome to save her anymore if she got into serious trouble.

"What did you do with my scepter?" she asked.

"Quite a fine token," said the innkeeper, looking pleased. "That'll bring a pretty lining to the pockets, if I'm not mistaken."

"That scepter," said Miaka sharply, "belongs to the Emperor of Kutou, who you have just insulted gravely by imprisoning myself and this woman, Kaen."

Slowly, the comatose woman on the bed rolled her head toward Miaka.

The innkeeper's irritating joviality remained firmly in place. On a more rotund man like the Emperor it would have been repulsive. On him it was simply false like his other expressions; his face was not wide enough for the expression. "Threatening's not going to do the trick, dear," he said. "I've heard it all, you know. Soldiers, generals, now emperors. Don't you fret, love, we'll have a fine surprise waiting for your friend when he gets back tonight as well. In the meantime, if you don't want him dead, there's something I need you to do for _me_, understand?"

_Your funeral. Bastard._

"Perfectly," Miaka said coldly.

She did not know why she was not more frightened. The initial spike of terror she had felt on realizing her circumstances had worn off, replaced by a charged determination, the knowledge that she must remove herself and Soi from this inn at all costs before morning.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that the innkeeper had made a grave miscalculation in challenging Nakago; more likely it was pure, unadulterated outrage that prevented her from cowering on the bed like a hurt puppy. Miaka's tolerance for bullies had reached a low point after her experiences in the Shijintenchisho last year. She did not sense any demonic energy coming from the innkeeper – though that fact made her only more appalled at his behavior.

"Lovely, my duck. This woman lying next to you here, she needs a bit of resuscitation before she starts her new job. Can't be comatose, I won't get a good price for her, no one wants a flat log –"

In another world, at another time, Miaka would have screamed at him. _Whatkindofmonsterareyou, Don'tyouseeshe'srighttherehearingeverything?_ It wouldn't have helped matters, but it would have given her that warm feeling she always got in the pit of her stomach when she told off someone who was obviously evil. But they needed to escape, and she would be shouting at Nakago when he got back anyway, why bother to waste her precious breath now?

"Very well," she said. Neutral words, but every drop of hatred possible was on her tongue as she spoke them, so they were almost more lancing than a scream.

"You will have to leave us alone," she added coldly, "She's been so badly traumatized that she won't even look at me. She's basically retreated inside of herself. I'm sure she won't be able to listen to me at all if there's one of you here."

Privately, Miaka wondered for a moment if the words she was inventing could be true. She dismissed the thought the way one banishes dust from clothing. She had too much respect for Soi to even think that the other woman would break over something like this, and Miaka's description of Soi's condition was, after all, mostly stolen from afternoon television. Miaka hoped Soi would forgive her.

Of course, Miaka had underestimated the innkeeper, who obviously had more sense than the average afternoon-television-villain back home. It was reasonable for a man in his position to be suspicious, but that didn't mean she couldn't resent him for it. "Damene stays in here," he said, with a bit of a sneer, which also looked fake. The problem, Miaka decided, was almost certainly his chin, which was not large enough to support any kind of expression, smile or frown.

"I'm flattered that you think two defenseless ladies with tied hands can escape from a room on the second floor," Miaka said, blinking innocently to show just how defenseless she was. "Look, I'm not going to be able to talk to her properly if there's a man in the room."

He regarded her coldly and turned, and she, frustrated, called out:

"Well then, you'd better give me points for trying, 'cause nothing that comes out of my mouth is going to have any effect!"

The innkeeper grinned. "Perhaps I should keep _you_ around for amusement."

Miaka gave in to temptation and gagged, visibly and obviously.

"You have until sunrise before the trader gets here," said the innkeeper, shrugging to show just how little he truly cared, and he whirled on his heel. Had he a cape, Miaka would have been more amused. As it was, she could not help but wonder for how much of the night she had been unconscious, and how many hours remained until dawn. The door slammed shut behind the innkeeper, and there was just Damene, and the still, still woman on the bed.

"Kaen," said Miaka.

The woman who was Kaen or Soi lay motionless. Miaka felt a horrible pity fill her. Her earlier words to the innkeeper seemed dreadful somehow, a kind of callous examination she had had no right to give. Seeing Kaen, Miaka wondered if afternoon television could, after all, have a grain of truth to it. The flicker of recognition that had lighted Kaen's eyes for a second seemed to have died, to be replaced by an emotional void

"_Kaen_," Miaka said again, but there was no response. Frowning, she touched the woman's shoulder and put her mouth to her ear. "Soi?"

"Go away, Suzaku no Miko," said Soi.

Her voice was a hiss of mixed loathing and despair.

-v-

He had searched the entire town, an impressive feat in theory but hardly so in practice, for it was hardly more than a village by Kutou's standards, boasting a total of three inns, one fine, one rough, one derelict. He would not find Kaen at the latter by her own choice; nonetheless, he made what could be termed, euphemistically, inquiries. When calm queries and broken fingers yielded nothing, he turned to the forests near the town. These were infested with lone bandits and raiding parties on the Western side, and here he was forced to tread cautiously. Even for Kutou, the unrest was unnatural; proof, it seemed, that the turmoil that typified Tenkou's Underworld was migrating to the physical realm.

The human leaders were trivial to incapacitate; there were some, however, who were not human, and he caught a flash of red in their eyes and was wary. But they were minor demons, trifling little things which couldn't hide their signature (the formidable ones, the ones with strong power, had all of the skill to keep hidden). He did not kill the demon's hosts, though tempted, knowing they would report back to Tenkou, but less patience was applied to the human bandits who resisted him. They told him nothing, so he had little use for them, and even scanter patience.

In a small grove bordering a stream on the Eastern side of the town, Nakago found the first thing that could be termed evidence: charring upon the ground, a tree nearly uprooted as though by strong wind. Another tree, a large one, bore a stripe of bark down its length that was burned coal black, struck by an electrical current too strong for any living thing, herbaceous or hoofed, to withstand. That tree was dead. And near it, a sticky, ill-smelling thing like something melted and the rotting odor of the human dead.

He approached the thing that had once been a man, divined from its apparel that it had been a raider or bandit. The woods around him were silent. There were no bandits here now.

The body was a day old; that, at least, could be told from the stench. That was only rational. If Soi had used her powers, it would have been on the same afternoon that Seiryuu came to inhabit the Suzaku no Miko's body. Interesting, certainly, but the finding said nothing about the current whereabouts of Haku Kaen.

Inquiries with the town citizens had brought him nothing. As far as he could tell, the last time Haku Kaen had been seen was last night, when she had entered the inn at which the Suzaku no Miko was currently spending the night.

The flamboyancy of the display he had witnessed earlier that evening drifted to mind again: the female's shouts, and her husband's concerned protests; it had been a performance, not as intricate or as glorified as Tomo's, but still a lie dressed like truth. Nakago remembered the feel of the innkeeper's shoulder under his hand and the bland expression upon the man's face as Nakago threatened him. He had expected the man to tremble when and yet there had been nothing, just a staunch blankness that he rarely saw from those at the receiving end of his warnings. At the time, Nakago had believed the man's lack of reaction to be due to stupidity, or an honesty so insipid it did not merit his attention. Now it seemed to him more sinister. A strange coincidence indeed that Haku Kaen had not been seen anytime after submitting herself to the innkeeper's hospitality.

Strange enough, perhaps, that it was no coincidence at all.

-v-

Yikes. This chapter was originally three pages long; after editing, it has turned into 5 (not long by most standards, I know, but nothing really happens in it!) But there's a lot more description now. So you can blame my inner perfectionism or whatever for the fact that this is… not late exactly, but not as fast an update as I would have liked.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this – _AGrandMalfunction, Alcestis, Marguerite Lily, megumisakura, flaire88, luu, 111, midnight blue08, Desert Renaissance _- you guys are awesome, and I so appreciate your feedback!

**The Q/A:** (people seem to like this, so I've no intention of stopping. If you think it's giving away too much, don't read. I may drop hints, but in terms of major plot points I really don't intend to say anything that the story hasn't already essentially given away).

**Did Nakago abandon Miaka?**

No – he was planning to return after locating Kaen. The fact that they happen to be in the same place makes it easier, of course.

**Will Soi die early or will she create bad air between the "romance" of Miaka and Nakago...?**

I must admit, I really like Soi as a character. To the extent that I felt like a fic that dealt with Nakago wouldn't be complete unless Soi was also in it somewhere. Let's face it, she bloody DIED for him. Like, leapt-in-front-of-a-sword-that-was-about-to-kill-him died. It just wouldn't be fair to overlook her in the story!

So yes, I have plans for Soi. But probably not in exactly the way you're thinking. Also, at the moment I'd say there's really no 'bad air' to be created, considering that Miaka and Nakago are barely past the I-want-to-kill-you-on-sight phase.

**Will Nakago save Miaka?**

Maybe. But he's already rescued her once, from poor Ashitaire. (Yes, _poor_. I feel kind of guilty now for not developing his character more. In my defense, at the time I wrote that I thought the story was going to end around Chapter 9).

**Why did Nakago keep the cloak, and why did he give it to Miaka? Could this be a sign of his unacknowledged (even to himself) attraction to a certain miko? Is Nakago letting his good side prevail?**

Because the author has a brain full of fluff and plot bunnies. Ahehem. This is turning into less of a Q/A and more of an author rambling session. Sorry.

In terms of keeping the cloak, I think there are many reasons he could have kept it that don't necessarily imply sentimentality. Remember that he WAS keeping Miaka prisoner and he has always been good at emotional manipulation. However you look at it, the cloak gives him a hold over Miaka – she mended it _for_ him, the fact that it tore was her fault in the first place. At the time he set it aside, I'm almost certain that would have been one of the things on his mind - not sentimentality. Similarly, you could argue that he gives Miaka the coins only because he is trying to fulfill (or seem like he is fulfilling) his bargain with Tenkou, and this is just one more way to get Miaka to trust him.

(_Aww_, you're thinking, _that's not the answer I wanted!_)

But I also think unacknowledged is the key word here. Because a lot of the time I think Nakago does things that are nominally for one reason, but subconsciously for another. And bringing the cloak with him to give to Miaka could be seen as a power move (as in 'you idiot, not only can you not mend a cloak properly but you also can't dress for bad weather') to establish himself as necessary to Miaka's survival, but I think it shows a level of thought and care that even someone so fond of planning as Nakago might not have considered unless he possessed some kind of, even unacknowledged, sympathy.

**Was Miaka's hold on the innkeeper/innkeeper's wife just her childish charms seen by Nakago in a more convoluted light?**

I don't think this is just Nakago being cynical. Miaka has a kind of earnestness/honesty which makes other people tend to want to help her (except Nakago, because he's, well, a bastard). Of course, this time she's actually lying... so maybe Nakago is right to be cynical...

**Why are Soi and Kaen two different entities in Chapter 10?**

A good catch – this will be revealed in the coming chapter!

**Disclaimer: **If "I fink you broke my nofe" sounds familiar, it's because I basically stole the line from Dmitri in Anastasia. (If you haven't watched that movie and don't mind the fact that it's animated it is high on my list of recommendations). And, um, Yuu Watase's stuff doesn't belong to me. And neither does the song.


	14. Drawn towards the edge

**XIV**

**Drawn towards the edge**

Of all the Seiryuu seishi save Amiboshi, Soi was the one who, to Miaka, had seemed the most human. Miaka had learned from Tasuki how Soi had flung herself forward to save Nakago from Tasuki's killing blow. After Hokkan, Soi had been the one who informed Miaka of Nakago's trickery, returning her hope that she could summon Suzaku.

In all her encounters with Soi, Miaka had never seen the woman brought so low.

Close up, she saw that one of Soi's cheeks was darker than the other. A formidable bruise had spread across her left cheekbone. Miaka felt sick. She tried to keep her voice gentle as she asked, "How did this happen, Soi?"

"Have you come to mock me, priestess?" Soi's lips barely moved over the question.

"Why would I want to mock you?" Miaka whispered.

"I am not undeserving," said Soi. "I did stupid things in my lifetime, but this latest has been my crowning glory."

Soi's features were different from how she remembered: softer, gentler: less like a warrior. There were deep circles under her eyes, which Miaka sensed were not merely the product of the past two days, but of months of poor sleep.

"We were doing quite well," Soi said. "She had almost accepted me."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Miaka said in a gentle voice. "What did the innkeeper do to you?"

"The innkeeper!" Soi's laugh was caustic. "You remember what I was! Do you think he would ever have been able to bring me to this level on his own, priestess?"

Miaka bit her lip.

"No…" Soi murmured. "This malady – the reason I am the way you see me now – is entirely due to Kaen."

-v-

After Nakago had awoken Soi's memories, Kaen had not been able to stifle them. She had fled the imperial city out of fear – terror of Nakago's return, desire for oblivion from the horrors she had seen in Soi's mind.

"I comforted Kaen," Soi said. "I tried to piece her back together. She resisted me at first. Gradually she's been learning to trust me.

"I've been protecting her, keeping her safe. We traveled a long way, made it to Sairou." Her face had an odd look, as though she was remembering something highly ironic or baffling. "The Byakko seishi took us in, for a time."

"Tokkaki and Subaru?" For a second Soi's plight was forgotten by this new breath of information, this reminder of their past life. She tried not to sound overeager, but in this regard, she failed, for she was certain the excitement came to light up her face.

If Soi was offended, she showed no sign. "They did not go by those names," she said.

"They had forgotten the Shijintenchisho?"

"No," Soi said, "they remembered every detail."

Miaka's breath quickened.

"They knew what I was, and they still took me in," said Soi. There was a note in her voice that was strange. It could have been mocking, but it could have held affection. It was close to the kind of tone Tokkaki liked to use whenever he addressed Tamahome, but Miaka had never heard Soi speak quite so gently before.

As if the thought was the impetus for a turnaround of emotion. Soi's face slipped into harsher lines. "We did not stay in Sairou overlong," she said. "We could not. Sairou treats its lone women cruelly, we had scant money, and I would not impose on the Byakko seishi for longer than was necessary. Eventually I persuaded Kaen it was safe to come home.

"The day before yesterday, we found ourselves caught in a bandit trap. My powers returned without warning, and I sent lightning down on our attackers. It was so sudden, and my powers faded so quickly afterward – I exhausted myself.

"We arrived at this inn. Ordinarily I check the safety of the place where we stay, but I was not conscious, and Kaen was on the verge of collapse. Until that moment I had been able to protect Kaen, and at this crucial instant I failed her. I fear my inability to protect her from the man who runs this inn has done her irreparable damage." Soi's eyes met Miaka's. "Are you actually _crying_?"

Miaka swiped at her face. "Of course not," she said. "Don't be silly."

In truth, she did not know whether she ought to feel frightened or sad. In her own world, of course, Miaka had heard of multiple personalities - that protective response to a childhood trauma too horrible to contemplate. To shut it out, you create a new persona, a powerful persona that can store the bad memories – and once one alternate identity is formed, why not another two or three? And then you realize gradually that there are bits and pieces of your life you cannot remember – strange little events your friends tell you about that certainly were not _you _(like kissing that boy on the street corner, or yelling at the snobbish girl in class) and gradually you realize that something is wrong, terribly wrong, and maybe, one day, you end up in a therapist's office and it all comes out.

Soi's case was different of course. Kaen and Soi were two fundamentally distinct people fused into one body without choice – each they knew of the others' existence and seemed to be bearing it as best she could. But Miaka thought how Nakago had never spoken of as though he carried another self, nor had any of her seishi, not even Nuriko, who in this world was born female – and hearing Soi talk about Kaen in this way still swept chills down her spine.

But Miaka's sense of wrongness was overpowered with a terrible emotion she would never let Soi see, which might have been pity. Because it was one thing for Soi to blandly lay out the facts and quite another for Kaen to have lived them. Kaen was who Miaka pitied, not Soi, who had no need for Miaka's pity and would have spurned all pity offered. Kaen was an innocent creature caught up in a mess of fate and gods' games, forced in the space of two months to face a world she barely understood, a world that was cruel and cold and deadly.

If Miaka felt pity for Kaen, she suspected she was not alone. It was not definitely pity Soi felt for her other-self, but there was an odd quality to her voice as she spoke of Kaen, as if Soi had a kind of fondness for Kaen that was – not motherly, but almost patient, the way an older sister might have been. Like when she said, in ironic tones, "I would offer to let Kaen converse with you, but she is unusually quiet at the moment. You seem to have caused Soi to resurface – for which, I suppose, I must be grateful."

Miaka, who was not surprised at the fact that Soi's memories had returned at her presence, shrugged a little. "I tend to have that effect on seishi," she said.

"Hm," said Soi. For a moment she was quiet. Miaka gave her some time. She guessed the sun would not rise for another four hours. In the corner, the man whose nose she had broken was asleep, snuffling softly whenever he tried to breathe. Miaka decided that, regardless of what she had mumbled after the nose-punching incident, she was decidedly _not_ sorry.

"I think we should try to escape, if you can manage it," Miaka said in an undertone. "Nakago should be here soon, but…"

She was thinking of the scepter, how far away it could be by now, how she would possibly manage to get it back.

She intended her words to be soothing. Soi's reaction took her by surprise: Soi bolted upright with a suddenness that made Miaka jump. Since Miaka was poised at the edge of the bed, trussed like a lamb dolled up for sacrifice, this resulted in her almost falling from the bed with no means of regaining her balance. Soi caught her arm before she could tumble, seized her and yanked her away from the edge in a movement that was almost painful. Miaka caught sight of her wide eyes, and gulped.

"_Nakago?_"

She half-hissed, half-whispered his name, appearing not relieved but alarmed. Miaka would have been taken aback, had her shoulder not been in agony from her near-fall moments before.

"How high up are we?" Soi said.

"One floor, we're above -"

Soi was sweeping past her already (perhaps she had already known the answer, and the question was rhetorical). Miaka tried not to let out a huff. Her hands were still bound. Her feet were still bound. And Soi was gliding forward with the grace of a snow leopard, the long black of her hair swishing lazily at her back. For a moment, Miaka was certain Soi was abandoning her – and then she remembered their guard.

Their guard apparently remembered them, too, or at least he woke up enough to gaze at them blearily. His mouth twisted into a grin that was either malevolent or stupid.

"Finally awake?" he said (stupid, then). "About time you –"

With a rapid movement, Soi swept his legs out from under him. She launched herself forward, put the heel of her boot against his throat, and pressed down.

"For your complicity in evil," she said coldly, as the man spluttered and thrashed. He had a knife in his hand, which he drove into Soi's calf – she hissed and kicked him hard, knocking his head against the door. Miaka could only watch, helpless, from the bed. Who said Soi wasn't dangerous?

"Well?" said Soi, ignoring the blood pouring down her leg as she stepped over the unconscious man to try the door-handle.

Miaka held out her bound hands wordlessly.

With a grimace, Soi yanked the blade out of her calf and moved forward to help Miaka with her bonds. Miaka tried not to stare or wince or think about blood-borne disease as Soi used the blood-soaked knife to cut through the ropes that chafed at her wrists, and then her ankles.

Miaka waited in the hallway as Soi crept down the first two steps. "The innkeeper is downstairs; he converses with a party of men who appear to be woodland brigadiers. Are your miko powers strong enough that you could cast a barrier around the pair of us?"

"Sorry?" said Miaka, thinking that she must have missed something between her walk from the door to the edge of the stairs; either that or Soi was just frightfully confused. It was understandable, really. Being one of two people inhabiting one body had to make you go batty after awhile, particularly if, after only just escaping the company of Tokkaki (who had to drive any female in the vicinity to mild insanity after prolonged contact) you had found yourself faced with rape and the prospect of and being sold as a prostitute. Again.

Well, humor Soi; it was good to humor crazy people, particularly crazy people with knives stained with blood from their bodies. She shifted on her feet, just slightly, and whispered, "What miko powers?"

Soi glanced at her, a sidelong cool glance, the glance of one who seeks to verify that the other is not being facetious. "While you were unconscious," she said, with a faint shrug, as if to indicate just how little she cared it had happened, "one of the innkeeper's henchmen attempted to derive some amusement from your comatose form."

Miaka's heart thundered.

"He was unsuccessful," Soi said dismissively. "A red shield appeared around your body. He could not touch you."

Miaka tilted her head back, a slight frown creasing her face. "First time I've heard of it." She glanced out the window. From what she could tell, they still had time left until dawn.

"You were also able to erect such a barrier in Hokkan," said Soi. "Did you not know?"

She had not known, of course. (And from the way Soi said the words, Miaka knew Soi knew she hadn't known.) The name _Hokkan_ resonated somewhere deep within her, drawing forth a shiver that was by this time conditioned. It was part shudder at her own stupidity and part cringe at the events in the tent, the sense of filthiness that seemed to embody the entire place when it entered her thoughts, no matter that Soi had dispelled the lie of her rape one week after. Miaka had never understood Nakago's failure to ensure his side's victory on the night she fell into the trap he and Tomo had set, but of course this must be the answer – her miko powers must have protected her when she required them most, saving her from –

She would consider the implications of this discovery later.

And yet.

"I shouldn't have powers here," she murmured. "There's no such thing as a miko in this world."

"Since you are not originally from this world, Suzaku no Miko, have you considered that you might be the exception?"

Before Miaka could reply, Soi had slipped down the staircase. Miaka was left standing at the top of them, staring down but trying to be invisible, feeling completely at a loss.

She had no idea how to erect the barrier Soi had described, and apparently Soi had no use for her now. Or perhaps Soi was so used to fighting alone she had never learned to take help from anybody. Miaka could not contain the sigh that escaped her lips at this last thought, for she knew it was true; she had seen this with all the warriors of Seiryuu. They were fiercely independent and proud, taking help from no one unless it was practically forced upon them. In that respect, they were Yui's mirror, for Yui had always been the independent one, never needing help on an assignment, cutting her hair to deflect attention from herself – or to gain attention (Miaka was never sure which).

Not for the first time, Miaka Yuuki wondered just what personality factors had gone into the gods' seishi choices.

Fighting had broken out on the floor below. Miaka's first instinct was to charge to Soi's aid, but she was not certain her assistance would be appreciated, and she _had_ to track down the scepter. She had a hunch it would still be close to the innkeeper's person, if he had not already bartered it off.

It was then that Miaka heard the creak of a floorboard behind her, whirled around, and found herself face-to-face with Pengua, the innkeeper's wife.

It was hard to say who was more surprised. Miaka did a small hop backward that almost caused her to tumble down the stairs rear-first. Pengua's mouth opened and closed, but eventually she remembered the existence of her vocal cords and cleared her throat.

"Go back to bed. No respectable woman is up at this late hour."

Miaka spluttered. "Your husband," she said, "is a lecherous psychopath who raped one of my friends and locked me up and stole from me, and you want me to _go back to bed_?"

Pengua relaxed. "It's kept us financially solvent," she said, shrugging. "As long as he sells off only strangers, bad women and the like, and I play the self-righteous wife with no tolerance for loose woman who has no idea what her husband gets up to, I'm in no danger, he doesn't bother me, and this inn remains the most respected in the entire town."

"If you're any kind of respectable, you'll let me into your room so I can search for something your husband _stole_," said Miaka.

"Sorry, girl." Too late, Miaka realized Pengua had not been staring _at_ her, but over her head at the man who had crept up behind her. "I think you're the one who's about to be stolen – again."

Miaka did the one thing she was _very_ good at: she screamed at the top of her lungs.

-v-

In retrospect, Soi should have lowered herself and the miko out of the second-story window on a rope of bed-sheets. Challenging four bandits simultaneously was not her preferred mode of operation; stealth attacks were her forte. Fire pokers also made somewhat awkward weapons.

The innkeeper was dead; she had seen to him first. Fire poker driven deep into the hollow space where his heart should have been – Soi felt oddly devoid of triumph or other emotion, but a brittle sort of satisfaction filled her as blood dripped from the poker, as the man's mouth worked uselessly. It was perhaps the only time in his life that he was not acting. She felt no pity for him even as he gasped and gurgled.

The others – three large men – were next.

She was banking on the fact that they were not trained fighters. She had not factored in Kaen's lack of flexibility, which put her at a distinct disadvantage in a fight. To make matters worse, her desire to get out at all costs was marring her thinking; Kaen's panic was rising to the surface again.

"Not your usual fighting style… Soi."

She stilled at the sound of Nakago's voice from somewhere behind her, and in her moment of distraction, the nearest raider managed to slice a gash in her side.

She hissed and severed the man's jugular with her knife.

Two to go.

But she could feel Kaen returning. The loss of blood was making Soi weak, and it was all she could do to stand up on her own two feet now. She felt Kaen drop the fire poker, felt her back up until she was pressed against the wall. Kaen watched, trembling, as Nakago dispatched the last of the bandits with ruthless efficiency. He started forward.

Soi heard Kaen say, "Don't come near me."

And then a scream pierced the air.

-v-

A lot of you have been asking about Soi/Kaen, so I hope that clears up some things! Thank you so much to _flaire88, Marguerite Lily, AGrandMalfunction, Alcestis, midnight blue08, Desert Renaissance, megumisakura, _and _luu._ Your feedback really brightened up what was kind of a lousy week.

Just a quick sidenote: as flattered as I am when people feel the impulse to leave me multiple reviews under different pennames (yes, you know who you are ^_^)one review per chapter is perfectly sufficient! I am definitely motivated by reviews and love getting feedback, but all the reviews in the world aren't going to make me update faster if I'm busy with work, or if the chapter doesn't feel right just yet. And I also should add that I'm not withholding chapters because I'm trying to meet some sort of review quota or anything of that sort. It may not seem that way sometimes, but I DO have a life outside of fanfic! :)

Q/A:

**Faster updates would be appreciated…**

Well, yes, and I'd like to get this story posted myself. The thing is, I may say I have "written" 26 or however-many chapters on my profile, but when I say that it's more like… they're basically fully-written plot-wise, but in need of a lot of work. Editing, adding description, and the like. Usually I add about a page to a page and a half in edits before posting. And then there's the Q/A, which takes time itself. And time is not something I have loads of right now.

**Sesshomaru/Kagura/Kagome = Nakago/Soi/Miaka?**

There ARE a lot of parallels, I agree. And yes, I confess to a certain fondness for the Inu-Yasha fandom (not that it's much of a secret if you look in my favorite stories).

I think the reason Sess/Kag is so much more popular than Nakago/Miaka is because Nakago is much more of a villain than Sesshomaru. Really, how evil can you be if you've got a sword that brings people back from the dead an adorable little girl tagging along after you? (Poison claws nonwithstanding!) I also would argue that Nakago did much worse things than Sesshomaru, manipulating emotionally with full knowledge of the effect it would have on his victims. Sesshomaru murdered humans and demons, but given the standards of demon etiquette in Takahashi's world, his behavior isn't really all that reproachable. (Obviously, if you were to judge him by human standards, it would be a different story!)

**Why is Nakago looking for Soi? In canon (anime wise), he never really acknowledged his feelings for Soi…**

Hm, but if you recall, he did carry her dead body for… what, 5 straight episodes? Plus, she was one of the people waiting for him in Death. So even if he didn't outright acknowledge them, it's hard to say there weren't some feelings there.

**Disclaimer: **The Shijintenchisho, Miaka, Nakago, and any other characters whose names you recognize, are not mine. They are the property of Yuu Watase and I am only borrowing.


	15. Do I assume I could fly?

**XV**

**Do I assume I could fly?**

Miaka's captor, Demene, the one whose nose Miaka had shattered, heard the rush of footsteps up the steps to the hall that heralded Nakago and Kaen's arrival. His knife was pressing into Miaka's throat, making it painful to swallow. "You move, she dies," he said, except it came out kind of snuffled due to his nose, which was still a deep purple.

Miaka raised her eyes to the ceiling. Apparently outlaws had been speaking in clichés long before the invention of bazookas and dark shades and anime-villain-laugh. "Next," she said cynically, "I suppose you'll go off on a long speech about the inevitable destruction of the universe, how my death will give you eternal power, immortality, &etc."

She realized it was a bad idea to mention eternal power and immortality around Nakago; a worse idea given their recent close encounters with the forces of demons and evil and pain. Her words were hardly loud enough to echo across the hall, but she knew Nakago heard them. She should have been more concerned by this, but all she could think of at this moment was how she desperately hated knives, particularly the one currently drawing a gash in her throat.

"Wha?" said her captor.

"Never mind."

She knew she must look helpless, one arm pinned behind her back, the other pressed hard into her captor's side, knife to her throat in a killer's position. But she could feel her captor trembling, too, whether from exhaustion (it had to be four in the morning), trauma (he had not looked too pretty when Soi had left him), or simple terror (Pengua had vanished, leaving him to fend for himself). It did not relieve her that he was more terrified than she was. Terrified, desperate people did stupid, desperate things, and, whatever Miaka had been through in the last few weeks, Miaka really didn't want to die. It would be so humiliating to die like this.

But her captor's eyes were on Nakago, not focused on her, and she wondered if he would even notice if she made a sudden movement. Miaka's thoughts were drawn back, back to the months she had been with Tamahome, to the time she had tried to wheedle him into a self-defense lesson on a sunny day in summer. Since Tamahome and Miaka really had wanted children one day, the former had decided Tasuki would make an excellent practice partner in his stead. Tasuki had not been delighted with this arrangement, and the magnitude of Tamahome's hilarity had only been matched by the inventiveness of Tasuki's insults to Tamahome's mother, house, and testicular fortitude. It had not ended well.

"Drop your weapons," her captor said, in a high voice that might have drawn a laugh from her at any other time. "Turn around and walk away!"

Her eyes caught Nakago's for a moment, despite the darkness, and she wondered if he would do it. She half expected a cool, "You may kill her; she is of no use to me" or "Come, Kaen, we are going." When he lowered his sword to the ground, almost lazily, as though he knew what she was thinking and was determined to do the opposite of it – that was when she felt taken aback – a deep stirring of unease that had nothing to do with the knife at her throat. It was as if he was trying to demonstrate a kind of regard for her feelings when she knew in fact he had none. She had worried when he was gone, and now he was back, and his presence bothered her. She almost wished he would leave again – almost – but now was not the time to worry overmuch about being played.

Now was the time to _stomp_ very hard on her captor's instep, to elbow him hard in the groin as he recoiled, to _duck_ out of the way as the knife tried and failed to slice her throat again,

Mentally she thanked Tasuki for his day of self-sacrifice as she straightened, still alive. Her captor, finding his insurance against certain death gone, turned with a whimper; against Nakago, he never stood a chance.

Miaka straightened her dress and folded her arms, collecting herself. She tried not to let relief show blatantly as she stared into the cerulean eyes of the Emperor of Kutou.

"You're late," she told him.

"And _you_ seem to be making the loss of critical artifacts into a science," said Nakago. Her eyes were drawn to the golden object in his hand. If he was privy to her relief, he showed no sign. "I intercepted a demon in the form of a trader as he rode from the inn with this in his possession," he said coolly. "I find it interesting that you have managed to lose this not once, but twice, in the space off a day."

She accepted the scepter of Kutou from him, still warm from being held in his palm. She felt humiliation simmering to the surface again, and with it, a rising fury. "Excuse me for allowing myself to be knocked unconscious in my own bedroom," she said. "You told me this inn was _safe_."

"A minor miscalculation," Nakago said coldly, checking her captor's pulse.

_"Minor!"_

Kaen decided that this would be a very good moment to lose consciousness.

-v-

Miaka had rarely felt so guilty. Soi had freed Miaka from her bonds and almost single-handedly rescued her from the inn. Soi had been bleeding when she freed Miaka – Miaka remembered her pulling the knife from her calf like a fork from a chicken roast. By the looks of things, Soi had acquired new injuries in the time Miaka had spent getting caught.

Miaka boiled the water to tend to Kaen's wounds as Nakago cut away the blood-stained cloth surrounding Kaen's calf and side. Had Miaka not been so tired she would have been surprised at the way Nakago handled Kaen's injuries. It was – not soft; it was too efficient for that (she was reminded that he was a soldier), but there was an element of carefulness that might have been mistaken for gentleness if she had not known Nakago's true character.

Against Miaka's better judgment, they set Kaen down in one of the empty beds in the Wanderer's inn, in a different room from the one where she had been kept captive. Pengua had fled into the night, and there was no sign of any remaining bandits. Having secured the perimeter and determined that the only other guests were harmless, Nakago saw no reason not to remain in the inn until morning. Nonetheless, Miaka's instinct had been to get as far from the Wanderer's inn as possible. Miaka thought it best to remove Kaen at once from the place that must hold such distressing memories for her.

"She is unlikely to be awake by the time we leave," said Nakago coolly, when Miaka pointed this out. "She had lost a great deal of blood." He touched the water they were using to cleanse Kaen's wounds with a finger and turned to Miaka. "This water has gone cold."

She was not his servant. Nonetheless, she took a newly boiling pot of water off the fireplace and set it down next to Nakago, making sure to do it with vehemence. She hoped some of the droplets that splashed out scorched his flesh as badly as they stung hers.

-v-

Despite their late night, they were far away by noon the next day. In his encounters with bandits, Nakago had managed to acquire a second horse the previous night, so they could make decent time.

They had to take Kaen with them. On this matter, there was no discussion. Kaen was feverish and could not fend for herself. She had awoken once, when they were putting her on the horse, and on learning that she would be riding with Nakago, she had been so distraught that it had taken Miaka a near quarter hour to calm her. Soi seemed to be buried, lost or sleeping, and even Miaka's presence did not bring her out. In the end, Miaka declared that she would ride on the same horse as Kaen, leaving the other mount to Nakago.

They met no trouble on the roads that day, though Kaen's condition and Miaka's inexperience with a horse forced them to stop for more rests than Nakago would have liked. Though the surrounding woods were roiling with evidence of bandits, they gave the party a wide berth. It seemed that word of Nakago's actions the previous night had spread quickly in the bandit world.

Miaka tried hard not to complain during their journey. Occasionally she was forced to call halt, to her own embarrassment. She was not trained in long rides; she had not journeyed this long or hard since summoning Suzaku. She was tired but she could not fall asleep while riding: her arms were the only thing keeping Kaen in the saddle. When they were not resting, Nakago set a hard pace, and Miaka sensed that her saddle-sores would plague her for the entire week.

She still did not know why he was accompanying her on this journey. Would he abandon her as soon as they reached Hong-Nan? In some ways that would have been an enormous relief. She had no idea how she would explain Nakago's presence to her seishi. Who among them would try to kill Nakago on sight?

"Another halt?" Nakago said. Miaka's head was drooping, her mind drifting into dark thoughts of murder and vengeance and bloodshed.

"Huh?" She jerked upright and stared him down coolly. "We can go on."

-v-

Despite Miaka's protests (she _could_ have traveled farther, and Kaen _was_ recovering), they traveled only a mile farther before making camp. A nearby stream provided sufficient water for their evening meal, the second meal they had eaten all day. Nakago disappeared into the brush for a half hour and returned with a dead fowl, which Miaka plucked quickly and set over the spit (she was famished). If Nakago was surprised by her businesslike treatment of the recent kill he showed no sign of it. There was rice they had stolen from the inn, which she passed around.

Kaen was slightly better. She took the rice and pheasant and ate it sitting up. Still, she was wary of Nakago, and she gave clipped, one-word replies each time he addressed her. Miaka wished she understood the cause of Kaen's fright. She remembered Soi's reaction to Miaka's announcement that Nakago would rescue them the previous night. The logical conclusion was that Soi had been doing her best to escape before Nakago returned. Miaka wondered if Soi had been doing this for Kaen's sake – wondered what among Soi's memories had triggered such a potent fear of Nakago in Kaen that Kaen hardly dared speak to him. A couple times that evening, Miaka laid a hand on Kaen's shoulder, half-hoping to get some answers out of Soi, but even with Miaka's presence Soi remained deeply buried, as though Kaen herself was forcing her back. It was perplexing.

Kaen slept early, still weak with fever, and it was left to Miaka to clean up after dinner. She told Nakago that she would take first watch, bracing herself for the inevitable argument that she knew would follow, but he said only:

"As you wish."

Miaka wondered if she ought to be surprised at his placid agreement – and yet, she thought he seemed tired, though he hid it as well as he hid his emotions. She had slept a little the previous night after tending Kaen's wounds, snuggled against the edge of Kaen's bed, wrapped in a blanket that she had borrowed from another room on the top floor. She had assumed Nakago had slept too, but when she thought about it she realized he had been awake when she'd turned in, and it had been he who had wakened her. Perhaps he had kept watch for the previous night without her knowing. She could imagine Nakago doing that. So much for the inn being safe!

She did not watch him prepare to sleep; that would have implied she had some interest in his sleeping habits, which she did not, not really. She only glanced over after a good deal of time had passed, to verify that the seishi who was still such a thorn in her side had at last gone to sleep.

His eyes were closed, his breathing regular. She had been curious whether sleep would transform his visage into one that was innocent, vulnerable. It did not. His face was perfectly calm, but even in sleep, she sensed Nakago was dangerous. She saw slight movement beneath his eyelids – not enough to suggest he was awake, but she knew he only slept lightly.

She shrugged and turned back toward the forest. As long as she was quiet, she thought he would not wake – and even if he did, well, that just meant the bastard would get less sleep that night – it did not concern her overmuch_._ She was pleased to finally get some time by herself, to attempt something she had been desperate to try since Soi had told her about the use of her miko powers. The fact that no one in this world had any sort of spiritual power did not disturb her; Soi was right, she _was _different. And if the barrier between the spirit world and this one was truly fracturing, _someone_ would need the power to protect them.

She reached deep inside herself, trying to capture the feel of her inner power, bring it outside herself. It was almost painfully difficult; she was exhausted, out of practice, and barely expected it to work. Twice she was distracted, once by a deer munching the nearby grass, the second time by bat-chitterings overhead.

Slowly, red appeared in the palm of her hand, shimmering fitfully into and out of existence. She held her breath. As she concentrated, the scarlet chi solidified until it was a steady glow.

Miaka smiled.

She could work on her shield later, but right now there was something she desperately wanted to try. She felt slightly guilty – unreasonably guilty, really; if it meant she would be less appallingly useless than she had been earlier that day, surely it could not be a problem, and it was not like she was blatantly copying Nakago; her own seishi used such attacks. Why, even Tamahome had attacked by throwing chi.

And frankly, it was _cool_.

Ever since elementary chemistry, when she and Yui had managed to explode five beakers under the not-so-watchful eye of a substitute, Miaka had possessed a secret fondness for minor explosions. She was not a pyromaniac, not in the typical sense; she hated pointless destruction and pain and evil, and would never cause them if she could. But there was something so amusing about chaos sometimes, and a little of it never hurt anybody, and when she and Yui had managed to put out the fire at school they had been popular for almost two days, because nobody had managed to make quite such a loud explosion and not get in trouble for it.

And the energy in her hand was glowing, shimmering, beckoning her onward. It felt light, tingling, and she tried not to think about how _strange_ it was that she was holding pure energy in her palm. How to do it, she wondered, thinking of Tamahome – you sort of throw it and hope it reaches its target; that would be the first step. Her target: a dead stump (surely that would not hurt anybody, and if it did happen to work, well, the weather was ominous, she could tell Nakago it was struck by lightening or something). She held her breath and threw.

Nothing exploded.

Her ball of energy made it to the stump, but only barely. Flickering, drifting slowly as though caught by eddies of air, it traveled like an old woman, uncertain, probing, gliding hither and yon until it found its proper trajectory again and moved forward. It touched down upon the stump, a shadow of its former brightness, and a single piece of dead bark caught fire for a second. A breeze swept the clearing. The light flickered and died like a candle-flame snuffed, leaving in its wake the faint odor of charcoal.

Miaka blew out her breath in a sigh.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

-v-

Sooooo Miaka has powers. Heh heh.

A few notes. First off, I have MCATS next Friday, so I'm not going to be posting again until next Saturday or later. Which is about a week away, so not really too much of a deviation from Normal, but I just thought I'd warn you of the hiatus for politeness' sake ^_^ Secondly, the lyrics for the next two chapters are out of order because I thought they fit with the writing better that way - hope that doesn't bother any rabid NI fans overmuch!

Thanks to _AGrandMalfunction, flaire88, Marugerite Lily, GlimerOfhope, silent whisper, smile1, luu, 111, midnight blue08, megumisakura, _and _Desert Renaissance_ for your encouragement and fabulous feedback for the last chapter! Here's some Q/A….

-v-

**The Q/A:**

**Why was Nakago looking for Kaen/Soi?**

I get the impression that Nakago is the kind of person who likes to keep well-informed – he likes to know everything that's going on around him. Kaen's rejection, followed by her abrupt disappearance, surprised him. It was something he was not expecting, and something he wants explained.

On another level, Nakago, like Miaka, surely wants to know understand certain mysteries, such as why some of the seishi remember and some don't – and what better way to find this out than by studying such an unusual case as Kaen/Soi?

So that's the rationalized reason. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to keep in mind that Soi saved Nakago's life, and even if he doesn't love her, she's probably the only one he ever came close to being fond of after his mother and Taria died. But he didn't go after her with the intent of rekindling their 'relationship', as someone put it – it was more a curiosity thing. (And also, Soi no longer has her powers, so there would be no real rationalization for it).

**For those of you still confused about Soi/Kaen:**

Think of them as, essentially, two separate souls in the same body – both aware of the other's existence, both sharing the other's memories - but two independent identities. Kaen is more delicate, timid, and scared of Nakago; Soi is… Soi. You'll know which one I'm referring to from now on because I'll use the name Kaen or Soi.

Hope that helps? If not, let me know, and I'll try to do a better job explaining (read: BS-ing) how they came to be like this, etc.

**Miaka can use her powers. Is she the only exception? Can she only wield her miko powers because she is from another world to begin with?**

Miaka is the only one we have met so far who can use her powers. But she may not be the only one who can use her powers i this world. Recall that Seiryuu and Suzaku were both sealed.

**If Kaen/Soi gets a split personality because one had a good life until Nakago came along and the other had a much worse life until Nakago came along, how come the other seishis aren't suffering from split personalities?**

Nakago will have something to say on this later, but it has to do with how different their lives were before the merge.

**IS it Tokaki and Subaru or is it other Byakko Seishi, and how are they affected?**

Yes, it is Tokaki and Subaru, and yes they do remember everything from their former lives.

**How long was Miaka with Tamahome?**

Nobody's asked this recently, but I keep finding conflicting statistics in my own writing (I think I accidentally said, somewhere, a year) so in case anyone is confused: they married a month after the Wishes, they were married for three months, and it has now been nearly 1.5 months after Tamahome's death. So it's been nearly 6 months since the worlds merged.

**-v-**

**And some questions for you:**

Did this chapter go by too fast? This story is pretty plot-driven, and I haven't been slowing down as much as I normally do when I write, so I'd welcome your feedback.

Has Miaka's OOC-ness been progressively increasing (subtly, but progressively)? Or is it just me...?

**Disclaimer:** None of this is mine. Nothing. Not the chapter titles. Not the characters. In fact, the plot is sort of a conglomeration of clichés, too. Everything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase or Natalie Imbruglia, or countless fantasy/scifi authors out there whose ideas I shamelessly borrow and tweak.


	16. You raise the bar even higher

**XVI**

**You raise the bar even higher**

Nakago awoke to a disturbance in the energy currents of the campsite – small but persistent, and marked by a kind of clumsiness that breathed inexperience. At first he believed their camp to be under an ill-planned form of attack, instigated, perhaps, by a lesser demon, but as his eyes opened, he realized that it was not a foreign power that had woken him. The chi signature, the huff of frustration, poorly muffled, that drifted to his ears across the campsite – they belonged to the Suzaku no Miko, along with the half-dozen small fires playing out before her. A bowl of rice was by her side, recently-cooked and three-quarters eaten.

She was not looking his way, and so he watched her for awhile, she oblivious. Nakago watched as she flicked her wrist, watched the ball of red light sail half-heartedly toward the nearest stump, nearly arriving before it spluttered and died out. Watched her growl and dig her chopsticks into the rice before making another attempt.

Perhaps fifteen minutes had elapsed when at last he said:

"Ordinarily the job of keeping watch does not entail igniting small fires around the campsite, Suzaku no Miko."

She jumped as he had expected her to, chopsticks flying in two directions as she squeaked with alarm. "Why are you awake?" she said, almost rudely, watching him coldly.

It was her power that had woken him, that had invaded his sleep like a lost animal. "Your use of power is abysmally blatant," he said coolly.

"Right," said the miko, turning red. "Coming from the man who blew up half of Tokyo, I think a lecture on subtlety's a bit –"

She broke off, as though the reminder of their previous encounter had deeply unsettled her – as if, by reminding Nakago of his former power she might trigger its abrupt return. Doubtless the return of his abilities during Seiryuu's brief visit was still in the back of her mind, a cold reminder of his former capabilities.

He touched his blank forehead mockingly (though whether he mocked himself or her was subject to question). She caught the gesture, as she was meant to, and she flinched, as though embarrassed.

"A bit what?" Nakago asked, smiling coldly. "Hypocritical? Dear, dear, coming from the miko who betrayed the god of love after promising her flesh to him…"

The miko was breathing hard, fists tight at her side. "All right," she said, face taut. "We're both liars. Are you happy now, Nakago?" She turned away. "Since you seem to be awake enough to guard the camp in case of an attack, I think I'll turn in."

"Not so fast," he said smoothly. She froze, spine stiffening visibly, and he said, permitting a trace of insolence to fill his eyes, "Do you not wish to give me an exhibition?"

"Exhibition," she said, whirling and nearly upsetting her rice. Eyes narrowing in an expression of deep suspicion, lips pinching together, the Suzaku no miko scowled at him, raising her chin. "What do you mean, _exhibition_?"

Nakago allowed the silence to linger a fraction of a second more than was necessary, allowed his eyes to rest on the rapidly-reddening figure of the miko for slightly too long, before saying, in a tone that spoke boredom, "I merely meant a display of what you have been practicing." He raised an eyebrow. "Let us see a demonstration of the power of the Suzaku no Miko."

"I'm not the Suzaku no miko anymore," she said. "Haven't you gotten that into your head yet?" But she looked suddenly wary, as though his words had brought an unpleasant thought to her mind all of a sudden, unsettling her. "And why should I show you anything?" she said, folding her arms. "To have my powers mocked and ridiculed and laughed at?"

"Why should I scorn your powers, miko?" he said, touching his blank forehead again. "Somewhat foolish, given my current state."

Her reaction was unexpected. She tensed slightly, her jaw going hard in the firelight. "You are far from helpless," she said, after a moment. "You could probably knock me out before I could even try to defend myself, much less attack you."

He raised his eyebrow until she, eyes already nervous, began once more to fidget. "And this is how you wish to even the odds," he said. "By practicing your powers alone, in secret?" She raised her chin, but he cut her off before she could retort. "I have already seen your attempts, and the results of them," he said. "I was watching for fifteen minutes; you failed to notice me."

Her mouth opened in a manner that was most unbecoming. "Spying _bastard_," she said.

"Language, miko," he said, mildly, "or have you been around the bandit too long to remember how to use it?"

"Leave Tasuki out of this," she said, her aura flaring. Her attack did not surprise him; he was more than prepared to dodge if necessary. There was no need to, of course; the chi-blast she sent in his direction was slow and wavering and unfocused, and it flickered and died halfway between them.

"Throw your chi faster," Nakago said impassively. "The attack dissipates the longer it is away from your body."

The miko dealt him another look of deep suspicion. It served only to amuse him. He did not bother to tell her that the true attack did not require a physical toss but a mental one; it would be beyond her abilities at this point, anyway.

He expected her to snap, to turn with a huff and make for her blanket. When instead she settled herself on the ground and focused her attention to the coalescing ball of red in her palm, he was faintly surprised. He watched her take aim at the nearest log and throw. It was a better effort than some of her others, but the attack fizzled and died in midair, as most had done. Brows knotted in frustration, lips scowling, she called up another attack, and a third after that, each weaker than the last. He sensed she was tiring but said nothing. Faced with the undeniable evidence that a sealed god's miko had retained her power, he continued to watch, until, with a huff of frustration, the miko tossed her latest half-formed, already-flickering ball of chi to the ground and stomped her foot upon it, sending up a curl of smoke.

"This is impossible!" she cried, breathing hard.

"You are tired and have already expended most of your energy this evening," said Nakago coolly. "To continue to try now would be futile." The position of the constellations told him the night was more than half-through. He pulled the blanket off himself and strode toward the edge of the trees. "I will keep watch," he told her. "You will attempt this again tomorrow, and for as long as it takes until you have mastered the technique."

The miko dropped her rice bowl on top of their travel bags with a clatter and gaped at him. "Do you mean to say that you'll be _instructing_ me?"

"Yes," said Nakago, relishing the look of horror that had taken firm residence on her face. "And now, if you are finished gaping like a roasted pig, I think you had better extinguish the latest fire, Suzaku no Miko." The glimmer in his eyes was almost amused. "Before the entire forest goes up in smoke."

-v-

To Miaka's relief, Soi woke up midway through the next day. Kaen had been confused, scared, and childlike. Miaka had talked to her that morning. She learned that Kaen was afraid of Nakago and did _not _want to let Soi out. Why Kaen was terrified she would not say, though Miaka had a few guesses and, given what she knew of Nakago, Miaka decided fear of the current Kutou emperor was probably quite healthy. It was less clear why Kaen wished to keep Soi buried, but Miaka had the impression that Kaen remained Kaen that morning through sheer force of will. Kaen informed them that she wished to return to the Imperial city. That was where she had been headed.

"It's not safe," said Miaka.

"I think I already found that out," said Kaen angrily.

"Do you want to talk about –"

"_No!_" The force of Kaen's answer seemed to shock even her. Kaen breathed quickly, looking remorseful.

Carefully, gently, Miaka placed her arms around Kaen. "It's all right," she murmured. "I understand. If you ever need to talk, I will listen."

"I know that," Kaen whispered. "I've seen Soi's memories, all the terrible things that happened to you." She looked miserable. "You must hate Soi," she said. "And me."

"Why?" said Miaka.

"I would," said Kaen. "You're so brave. But Suzaku is the god of courage, isn't he?"

Miaka was not brave. Had she been brave, she would have faced Suzaku and been devoured and demons would not currently be swarming across the mortal realms. She said nothing, hating herself for the almost worshipful light in Kaen's eyes. The expression looked odd on Soi's face.

Presently Kaen said:

"Miaka, you've been very kind, but I really do want to return to my family. It's where I was headed when – when –"

She flinched.

"It's dangerous right now," said Miaka, thinking of demons devouring Kaen's soul. She shuddered. "You must not."

"_Please_," said Kaen, and she began to sob.

It was all very frustrating.

Soi was everything Kaen was not: pragmatic and sardonic and decidedly _not_ worshipful of Miaka. Miaka breathed a sigh of relief when Soi said she'd have a word with Kaen (though how was not made clear) and that they would all be traveling to Hong-Nan together.

But Soi avoided meeting Nakago's eye as she said this, a fact Miaka could not help noticing.

Miaka couldn't stop herself from bringing it up that night, when Soi was asleep and she was preparing to practice her attack technique. "Nakago?" she said, and when he inclined his head she barreled on. "Are you two people or one person?"

"My Shijintenchisho memories integrated remarkably well with those of the man of this world," said Nakago. He sounded as though he had been expecting this question from her.

"But there must have been differences." _A whole book's worth of differences._

"Early life determines destiny," said Nakago, as though reading her thoughts. "Our upbringings were remarkably similar – what differences there were are of little consequence."

Miaka wondered if that was true. While the Nakago of the Shijintenchisho had certainly integrated with the man of this world, was not constantly tormented like the woman who rode with them, she thought that the merged specimen seemed less _driven_ than he had in the Universe of the Four Gods – less malicious, less _manipulative_…

Or perhaps she was being manipulated without realizing it, and this was all part of Ayuru-Nakago's cunning scheme to gain her trust.

She rubbed her forehead.

"Nakago." Her voice was hesitant. "What happened… after we… you know, when you died?"

He was silent, and she thought he hadn't heard her, and she was glad, because now she regretted the question. It was too personal, too private, too close to the topic of Miaka's wish and his defeat for either of them to be comfortable with it. She made to tend the fire, which was lively and did not need tending aside from the occasional prod with a stick, which she did with great vigor. Nakago's eyes were on the trees, coolly narrowed, they had the appearance of seeing things far away.

"It was hardly a fascinating experience," he said. "I died. I awoke in the body I inhabit now."

He was lying to her. Miaka did not know how she knew, for the words had no indication of falsehood about them, but the lie was there, on the air between them. Perhaps she could read it on his chi; perhaps, having been lied to by him so many times she was learning how to spot one; or perhaps the prickle of unease that tore up and down her spine now was simple a the product of maturing and healthy mistrust of him. For a moment she opened her mouth to call him out on the lie, lips parting on a cry of indignation –

She closed her lips. The protest died, un-uttered, and a calm quiet regained mastery of the evening.

Later that night, as Miaka was on the verge of sleep, she would think on the moment and wonder. Still later, when her all-but-shattered trust in Nakago was slowly re-forming, she would regret not pursuing the lie. But now, she studied the fire and prodded it with her stick, thoughtful but not bothered. It had, after all, been a very personal question.

-v-

They continued to practice attacks that night, and the night after, long after the still-healing Soi was abed. On these practices, Miaka fared slightly better than she had her first day, though four times out of five her attack died halfway to its target. Nakago was dissatisfied, Miaka indignant. She was a miko and not a warrior; she could cast a shield with barely a thought (she knew, for she had tried after she and Nakago were finished their first night's practice); and it made sense in her mind that her skills should be peaceful. "Maybe this is something I'm not meant to be able to do," she told him on the third night. "To attack," she said. "To kill."

She heard his voice behind her, drifting toward her lazily from the bed on which he sat. "Thus far, you have killed nothing, Suzaku no miko, save for a few small plants and a beetle. Again."

She bared her teeth at him and then spun back to the tree she was attempting to incinerate, closing her eyes to disguise the feeling that something dangerous was behind her, that she should be looking into the camp instead of out of it. "I can't concentrate when I know you're watching me," she snapped, not looking at him.

"I was under the impression," said Nakago coolly, "that the entire point of this exercise was to be able to retaliate against an enemy. Practicing under a state of calm will only harm you in the end."

"Believe me," Miaka spat, throwing a frustrated attack at the trunk of the oak and missing it by a few feet, "I'm about as _not_ calm as you'll ever see me."

There was movement behind Miaka. She froze as she felt hair tickling her cheek, a hand on her waist, gliding lower. Nakago chuckled, and she actually felt the sound through the thin cloth that separated his chest from her back. "Are you _quite_ certain of that, Suzaku no Miko?"

"BASTARD!"

She whirled; though he moved away at a speed near inhuman, her attack tore a scorching hole in his shirtsleeve. Distantly, she registered burning flesh, a faint odor that drifted through the campsite.

One hand rose to cover her mouth, and she hurried toward him, face growing pale, eyes wide, heart pounding. It was all right, she thought, he was not badly injured, and yet still she felt something like sickness rise to her throat. "Gods," she said. "I didn't mean. Your arm…"

Nakago studied the hole in his sleeve with interest; the burn was painful, but not severe. His dodge had no doubt saved him from the injury being worse. His eyes rose to hers and he regarded her coolly for a moment, as though taking in her pale face and sick features. Belatedly, she lowered the hand that had risen to cover her mouth. "Better," he said, after a moment. "You were at closer range, but the attack had more focus. Perhaps you simply lack sufficient motivation. We will practice with a human target from now on."

Miaka gulped.

-v-

I'm back! Did you miss me? Hmmm?

Sorry for the delay. I realize I said I'd post this chapter on Saturday, but a ton of work hit me over the head as soon as my MCATs were finished, and the upshot of it was that I ended up working most of the weekend, with very little time for this. Thanks so much to the awesome _AGrandMalfunction, _as well as _Alcestis, Marguerite Lily, silent whisper, Desert Renaissance, midnight blue08, Glimerofhope, luu, 111, smile1, flaire88, _and _megumisakura_ for your reviews!And, wow, 100 reviews already? You guys are amazing! ^_^

Thanks to everyone who responded with reassuring comments about Miaka's IC/OOC-ness, as well as for the comments about the relationship's progression. A few of the remarks I got were on the 'more fluff!' side of things but the majority liked the subtle progression of Nakago and Miaka's relationship. Since story is probably going to end up being around 45/50 chapters total, subtle progression is certainly going to win out for a good many more chapters.

I want to post this fast (It's nearly 2 AM over here) so Q/A might be a bit abridged this time. If I accidentally miss something important that you think should be on the next Q/A, do bring it to my attention!

**Q/A:**

**Why is Miaka able to use her powers when Suzaku has been sealed?**

TBR!

**I couldn't say if it was a right move for Nakago to accompany Miaka to her journey in Hong-Nan considering his history with its emperor, Hotohori, but knowing him, he has always something up his sleeve.**

Yup!

**What is Nakago's hidden agenda?**

But that would be telling!

**How did the Suzaku seishis fare after Miaka left for Kutou?**

We'll run into them shortly, but they've been pretty much happily living their lives. Except for Tamahome, who is not happily living his life because he is, in fact, dead.

**I kind of notice that ever since Nakago showed up, Soi hasn't resurfaced again; it's as if she was doing it in purpose to possibly get away from Nakago, but why would she avoid Nakago like that?**

Kaen really dislikes Nakago. So it may be more related to Kaen's wanting to stay in control than Soi's desire to get away from him.

**'Practice makes perfect', right? So if Miaka practices enough she'll master this technique?**

I kind of wonder about this, because certain techniques _do_ come easier for certain seishi (obviously, or we wouldn't have special seishi powers). Now, Miaka's not a seishi, but I'd imagine the same principles would still apply. As I mention somewhere in this chapter, Miaka herself thinks her abilities may lie elsewhere…outside of blasting people with chi, killing, all that. Now that doesn't necessarily mean she can't master the attack, but I think it would certainly be harder for her.

**What does the title of the last chapter (Do I assume I could fly?) mean?**

I agree, it was one of the more obscure ones. Well, aside from being a lyric from 'Beauty on the Fire', I took it to refer to Miaka's attempts to use her powers. Flying as a metaphor for… doing cool things that would be impossible in our world. Feel free to throw rotten tomatoes at me if you wish (but don't expect me not to dodge XD).

**I can't help but wonder if Soi/Kaen even wants to go on living after having endured so much…**

Soi's a survivor. Kaen is too, although she doesn't come off as one in this chapter very much.

**Will Hotohori still be in love with Miaka? How will he react to Nakago's presence in his land?**

Since I see no reason not to mention it, I will: Hotohori is married. Yes, I know that doesn't really answer the question, but that _will_ change things. As for how he will react, wait and see!

**For some weird reason, I had a hilarious vision of Miaka dumping the hot water INTO Nakago's lap! Unfortunately, that would virtually have guaranteed Miaka's instant demise and a swift end to the story.**

Thank you for sharing this mental image – it made me giggle. Yes, I agree that that would be a rather tragic end to this story…

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everythiing you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase or Natalie Imbruglia, even if her lyrics have been taken out of order... **


	17. Cannot catch my breath

**XVII**

**Cannot catch my breath**

_From the last chapter: _

_Nakago studied the hole in his sleeve with interest; the burn was painful, but not severe. His dodge had no doubt saved him from the injury being worse. His eyes rose to hers and he regarded her coolly for a moment, as though taking in her pale face and sick features. Belatedly, she lowered the hand that had risen to cover her mouth. "Better," he said, after a moment. "You were at closer range, but the attack had more focus. Perhaps you simply lack sufficient motivation. We will practice with a human target from now on."_

_Miaka gulped._

-v-

Miaka dreamed. She dreamed of a necklace of acorns and white feathers, wreathed in blossoms of flame. She dreamed of wounds not closing, of the smell of burnt flesh, of paleness and sickness and death.

She woke up, perspiration dotting her nose and forehead. The moon was high overhead, its light catching the hair of a motionless figure with hair of pale gold who sat at the edge of the clearing, staring out.

"Go back to sleep, Suzaku no Miko," he said, without turning, and she, still hazy with the mazelike circularity of the nightmare, fell asleep again under the stars.

This time, her sleep was dreamless.

-v-

"This is never going to work," she told Nakago, in a voice of mixed exasperation and petulance. Arms folded, eyes stubborn and snapping, she glared at him across the clearing.

"Yes?" said Nakago, in the impassive voice that could mean he was bored, or annoyed, or disgusted. Miaka hoped that it was the latter, for it would make her life so much easier if he would just walk away and leave her so that she could go back to practicing shielding in peace. She was tired from her dreams the previous night, from the effort of keeping watch in the nights before. She was hungry, though they had already eaten, and with Nakago and Soi awake she could not hope to sneak into the bags that held the provisions for the journey without being seen.

"Practicing with a human target," she said crossly. "I'll know you're just trying to goad me into attacking you. Nothing you say or do will be effective. I won't attack."

Soi, who had given up all hope of sleeping, was enjoying the show from the comfort of her bedroll. Her presence made Miaka anxious, not soothed. When it came to magical ability, Miaka did not perform well under pressure (uncontrolled, panic-stricken bursts of chi nonwithstanding).

Miaka's arms were tightly-crossed in front of her. Her eyes were on Nakago and wary, for if the night before had taught her anything, it was not to turn her back to Nakago. She did not trust Nakago, didn't trust him not to use unscrupulous means to get what he wanted, didn't trust his motives for aiding her, could never believe that he had enough of a heart for her own success to be his sole gratification. He was aiding her for a reason, just as he was traveling with her for a reason, and that reason could only involve the furthering of his own ambitions. She had asked him that day, when they stopped for their midmorning break, why he was not back at the Kutou palace, for surely there must be things that he, the new Emperor of Kutou, should be tending to.

"The new Emperor of Kutou?" he had repeated, mirthless to a fault. "What makes you so certain that I am the new Emperor of Kutou, Suzaku no miko?"

"That's what you keep calling yourself!" she had said, indignant.

"Is it?" His voice was sardonic.

"Of course it..."

_No_, she had thought in the silence that followed, as heat rose to her face like flames to a stovetop. I've_ been calling him Emperor of Kutou. That's what he allowed me to believe. That's what I assumed when he killed the former Emperor, because that's what happened in the book the first time – he became Emperor and then tried to become a god._

"But you," she said, fishing for words now. "You killed him. If you're not the Emperor of Kutou, then - He didn't have kids, did he?"

Nakago had chuckled darkly, then, and the sound had sent shivers through Miaka's bones. "The Emperor was mistrustful of those around him. All of the Emperor's surviving male relatives had met their end under mysterious circumstances. So I suppose you are correct, Suzaku no Miko. As shogun the ruling of Kutou should logically fall to me.

"But Kutou is on the brink of civil war. It will be a trivial matter to allow the country to destroy itself and step in and reclaim it, once the ruling parties have crippled it and my powers are restored."

Mouth agape, Miaka had stared at him. He was Nakago, and yet she still sometimes wondered how he could be so blunt, so callous, say such terrible things with a cool frigid smile. "Hundreds of people are going to die," she had said faintly.

"Kutou has always been a country of death."

She wondered what he meant, but really, it didn't matter; if his lack of emotion chilled her, it angered her more. She wanted to shake him. "There's going to be starvation and suffering," she said sharply. "How can you let that happen?"

The air whipped threw the clearing, casting ash up from the fire before her. She remembered her dream from the night before, the horror of being trapped as all around you fire raged. Another deep shiver filled her.

"How," she said quietly, "will your nightmares not keep you awake?"

He did not answer for a moment, but she knew he had heard her, knew even though his back was toward her. "It is quite simple, Suzaku no miko." He was not facing her, but she'd sensed the cold smile returning en force to his mouth, his mask unflappably smooth. "I never dream."

Now it was evening, and Miaka was facing the not-Emperor-of-Kutou across the campsite, waiting for him to goad her into an attack that was, as she had already pointed out, never going to work. It was never going to work because she was not going to attack Nakago, no matter how much he tried to goad her into it. She had already decided this, and nothing any of them said would change her mind. Her hands were closed tightly, so that even the temptation to call up an attack would not strike her.

Nakago wondered what had brought this change about her. She had been on edge all day. He had noted a distinct upswing in complaining arising from the direction of her horse over the course of that afternoon. It should have irked him. And yet, the increased volume of her complaints forced him to realize that, in the days before, the Suzaku no miko had hardly complained once, though their infrequent rests and hard had almost certainly pained her.

The flicker of respect he might have felt for her was extinguished by the petulance in her voice during their evening practice. Her refusal to master so simple a technique was foolish, the stubborn act of a child.

Or was it? She could not fear hurting him, the despised shogun of Kutou, and yet he saw fear when he glanced into her eyes, a terror that intrigued him. It might have been terror of him or terror of herself, he did not know; and he doubted she knew either. But if she feared the use of her powers, all the more important that she learn to control them now, for he had no intention of their party being accidentally obliterated by her uncontrolled rage if they should ever be attacked.

"You are pitiful, Suzaku no miko," he said. "I have never seen a girl who enjoys whining so much in my life; nor have I seen one who matches you for clumsiness and stupidity. I wonder if the reason you have not yet mastered this technique is that you have too little power to ever properly learn it."

"It's no good, Nakago," she said, allowing herself to smile even though his words did sting, just a little, for she feared they were true. "You're not going to succeed at making me attack you. Just give it up."

But he had no intent of giving up, and her words only caused him to smile. For all her affected carelessness, Nakago saw the hurt in her eyes, knew his words had reached their intended mark even if she would not acknowledge it.

He planned his next attack deliberately,

"Stubborn, Suzaku no Miko," he said coldly. "Do you refuse to practice, to use your chi, because you fear your own lack of control?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Miaka, still smiling. "I haven't even attacked you yet, despite the fact that you've been taunting me for fifteen minutes."

He touched his arm, the arm she had scorched the prior evening, and a mocking smile caressing his lips.

"You deserved that," she said, raising her chin, red heating her cheeks.

His eyes glinted; he had found his opening, one which he would press to every possible advantage. That was what Nakago did, one of the factors that made him so terrifying an enemy.

"Will your friends deserve it," he said, eyes glinting. "When they startle you, and you react mindlessly? When you are made angry, will the bandit, or that fool emperor, succeed in dodging your thoughtless attack in time?

"I've been here for sixth months and it's never been an issue," she said, squeezing her arms tighter to her chest as though protecting herself against something she didn't understand. "Why should that happen only now?"

"A power takes time to mature." The words came from Soi's mouth, not Nakago's, and though the female seishi met Miaka's eyes, her own gaze was guarded. Like one staring deep into the past, she looked outward, seeing but unseeing. Miaka watched her wordlessly. "Once tapped," Soi said quietly, "it's hard to stop using."

"Hard, but not impossible," said Miaka defiantly.

"Not for some," said Nakago, with an impassive glance in her direction. "But impossible for one so careless as you. Without making the effort to learn a modicum of control, such a weapon in your hands could lead only to destruction."

"I'm not careless," said Miaka, a little too quickly, and she winced as she said it. There was the scepter of Kutou, and Nuriko's death, and too many other incidents she didn't want to – _could not_ – think about. Nakago saw the wince, as he did every other sign of her weakness, and his smile grew slowly.

"So given to thoughtless reaction," he murmured lazily. "If not for your self-centered, blind naivety, you would not be here, at this moment, in this camp. Selfish, careless Suzaku no miko. Perhaps that is why your seishi have forgotten you; they could bear the displeasure of your company no longer."

Miaka stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

It was the waver in her voice that betrayed her terror, the softness beneath the harshness of the question that hinted at vulnerability.

"A trail of broken hearts was all the Suzaku no Miko left behind during her journey to the Shijintenchisho, was it not?" he said mockingly. "Is it any wonder that the Emperor of Hong-Nan chose to forget you, after all the trouble you caused him? You accuse me of destruction, yet you, who believe your strongest gift to be compassion, have ruined as many lives through sheer carelessness as I have with intent. I wonder if Tamahome ever realized what a self-centered creature he married – or whether the fool was as trapped by your charm as all the other Suzaku seishi."

"Tamahome wasn't trapped_._"

To his surprise, the muscles that had been going stiff as iron within her cheekbones relaxed. Her eyes, hard and furious at the mention of the Hong-Nan Emperor, softened. "We loved each other," she said softly, "something an emotionally-deficient soulless bastard like you finds hard to understand I suppose. But we were happy. Not trapped."

Nakago waited. A heartbeat, that lasted the space of the fleetingest smile. The entire campsite was poised, motionless, on the brink of discovery. Miaka, silent, wondering what he would say next. Soi, half-knowing, thoughts shrouded by the black hair that streamed down the sides of her face.

Nakago said:

"Did you come to that conclusion while he was dying for you, or after your thoughtlessness killed him?"

It was a guess, nothing more, but one based on the evidence his eyes brought him, and his knowledge of how the world of the miko operated and how her seishi revolved (_had_ revolved) around it. All of the miko's reactions pointed to some involvement in her lover's death – indirect, perhaps, but her eyes bore a certain guilt and shame and self-hatred that was impossible to ignore.

She had stilled now, her body arrow-straight and paling.

He could sense the energy gathering round her, flaring violently to the surface. He sensed the buildup of chi, and it gave him warning, a direction to move when her attack came.

Had he not retained this ability, even he might have thought twice about provoking her fury, but his sense of energy put the pair of them on a near-even keel. Nakago rolled left, then right. An oak tree exploded behind him, showering blazing bark pieces across the campsite.

He straightened. The miko had not moved an inch from where she stood, had not even raised a hand. Her entire body was trembling. A haze of bark and dust surrounded them. At her bedroll, Soi poured what remained of her tea onto the pillow to extinguish a small flame taking root. The miko's eyes darted to Soi, and then to Nakago again.

"Control," he said impassively. "We will continue this lesson tomorrow."

The flames continued to dance across the oak top, reflecting in her eyes, which were blazing. She shot him a look of pure hatred before turning wordlessly – and then, half-stumbling, half-running, she was storming from the camp as though her life depended upon it. He sensed her chi stop when she was some distance into the forest, wondered if she had fallen to her knees sobbing.

"Low," Soi remarked, touching the spot where the burn-mark had seared itself into her pillow.

"It was effective," said Nakago, not moving, regarding her coolly.

"Yes." It most certainly had been. Soi stood up. She glanced at him impassively, long hair trailing down her back. It was the first time she had addressed him directly since the journey began. "I don't care how impressive your reflexes are, my lord," she said. "If you must continue to goad her, I suggest you find a way to regain your own powers at the earliest opportunity."

-v-

Kaen was back the next morning, and she had even managed to cook breakfast before Miaka awoke, to Miaka's chagrin. "I'm tired of rice," Kaen said, as Miaka's lids blinked blearily to wakefulness against the foggy light of an overcast dawn. "Is there _anything_ else?"

Miaka, who was as tired of rice as Kaen was, shook her head sadly. She watched Kaen release a huff of annoyance ("Oh! Well! I'll just eat this then!") and allowed her thoughts to drift. Faced Kaen's muttering, with the overcast sky and the promise of rain later, hers thought did not drift very far before spiraling to their situation - more aptly, the hopelessness of it. As Kaen stomped back toward her with a frown on her face, Miaka reminded herself (in a bright thoughtful way that was more guilt-trip than true compassion) of what Kaen had been through in the last week, how she had suffered in the hands of the innkeeper, how she, more than anyone, had a right to complain. But it did not help that Miaka was exhausted, tired of camping beneath the open stars, tired of the food in particular, tired of Nakago to excess. She was cold and wet, and every part of her ached from riding, and to top it off, rice for breakfast was really not her cup of tea. She tried not to groan as she lifted her aching body to a sitting position. "Pass the salt," she said.

"There isn't any," Kaen muttered, in cool flat tones that were just shy of insolent. Her long hair was tangled and hung about her face like a carpet, in a way Miaka was sure Soi would never stand for. Kaen did not seem to care very much.

"Oh," said Miaka sadly. "Well. The rice is lovely, Kaen. Thank you."

But Kaen was not looking at her at all – she was too busy glowering at Nakago as he returned from whatever he had been doing in the forest. Miaka was too glad to see Kaen show some spirit to wonder about the reason behind the glare. Shrugging, the miko added her own scowl to Kaen's, thinking that if anyone deserved the cold shoulder that morning, it was certainly Nakago.

Miaka's eyes lit up, but not with delight. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a quiet, sensible voice told her that using Nakago as a verbal punching bag could have extremely negative consequences in the not-so-distant future. At one point in time, she might have listened to that voice.

"Where were you?"

The words rippled off her tongue in something that resembled a snarl.

Drops of water clung to Nakago's hair, making the ends almost brown instead of pale blond, and his shirt was faintly damp, as though he had just bathed – not, she thought hastily, that she had any business to be noticing these things! "My, my," said Nakago turning his head so that it caught what little sunlight there was to catch through the mist. "Aren't we in a fine mood this morning."

"And whose fault would that be," she said, not troubling to keep her voice low.

"Whose indeed," said Nakago silkily, and before she could explode with rage, he defused the situation by murmuring, "There is a spring to the east, if either of you would be interested in refreshing yourselves."

Miaka hesitated, torn between the thought of clean hair and the thought of wiping the smug gleam from Nakago's eyes by dealing him a blunt and biting refusal. She decided to solve this dilemma by invoking the aid of a neutral party. "What do you think, Kaen?" she said coolly. "Should we go?

"Oh… yes… I guess so… that is, I wouldn't mind feeling _clean_."

The words, so starkly uttered, brought Miaka out of her private reality with a thud. Miaka, exhausted, felt the already-tenuous barrier holding back her tear-dam weaken. She blinked rapidly, for this would be a stupid, senseless time to cry. She felt awful, ten times worse than when she'd fought Nakago's verbal punches. Miaka did not know why, except that she was a thoughtless and insensitive fool and Kaen had every right to be mad.

But –Miaka realized suddenly – Kaen was glaring at Nakago, not looking her way at all. There was something in her eyes, a kind of terrible hatred, or a challenge, or something in between the two, that made Miaka's hair stand up along the skin of her arms.

In that instant, as Miaka felt the tension seem to turn the air cold and oily viscous, her bad mood evaporated in a rush of concern. A showdown was brewing, perhaps not now, but soon; the raw feelings in the clearing could not remain unvoiced without sparks flying someday. She stared at her traveling companions, noting Nakago's raised eyebrow and Kaen's clenched teeth. For once, she was not where the attention lay, but the question – to interfere, or to not interfere, still lay solidly with her. But Miaka was an interfering person by nature, and she really doubted any conflicts could be resolved when one of the parties was irrational and hungry and in desperate need of a bath.

So she shrugged and said brightly, "Let's go!" ignoring the cold gazes of the other two (three, if you counted Soi). She took a firm grip on Kaen's wrist and tugged. Kaen did not resist. Kaen was still staring the way they had come, even as they stumbled their way down the path toward the water, an expression of disgust and of fear on her face. "What's wrong?" said Miaka, though she thought she knew.

"How do you stand him?" said Kaen.

"It _is_ hard not to try to kill him at times," Miaka agreed, conveniently forgetting that she had done precisely that the previous night.

"I don't mean… but _you_ know. He's done terrible things."

"Yes," said Miaka.

Kaen grabbed Miaka's wrist, eyes blazing with panic or fear or abhorrence or some combination. "He killed his father."

Miaka, who had been pulling her arm out of her coat-sleeve, paused with, one hand half-in-half-out of her sleeve. She stood in this way for a moment, staring at Kaen, who stared back frankly.

"What?" she said.

"Soi saw him. I _know_."

Kaen seemed to be on the verge of tears again. Miaka shrugged out of the rest of her jacket and hugged her, and Kaen, stiff at first, relaxed slightly.

It must be hard, Miaka thought, having the memories of a person who wasn't you. It must be hard, living every day feeling like you knew something about other people when in truth you had never met them before. Hard enough, perhaps, that you might slip up, might conflate a fact or a figure you had heard at some time with belonging to some other person, hard enough that you might misinterpret a memory about someone, place it out of context, tweak it so that it was transformed from innocent into awful.

Perhaps Nakago _was_ evil, perhaps he had killed a hundreds of people in his lifetime, but even the most evil man wouldn't –

_You know he would. You know he would do the deed and barely blink, just like he killed the Emperor with hardly a thought. Princes do it all the time in stories, can't wait for their old dad to kick the bucket so they speed the matter up, just a little. What king do you know ever died of old age?_

Miaka shuddered, and then realized Kaen was speaking.

"You know what I think?" Strangely, Kaen's voice was almost happy. It was as if she had been hungering to get her dark thoughts off her chest for far too long, and having done so, had put some, if not all, of her deep fears to rest. "I think he's jealous of you," she said. "I think he's trying to hurt you because he doesn't have powers and you do."

Miaka stared across the clearing, over Kaen's shoulder and past the bushes, toward the place where they had left Nakago standing in the camp, out of view, hopefully far out of earshot as well.

"Jealousy," said Miaka blankly.

"All of the Seiryuu seishi can be reduced to jealousy," said Kaen, "in some form or another."

Her voice sounded older, and wiser, almost as though she was reliving something. For a moment, Miaka thought that Soi might have returned, but no, she was still Kaen, just remembering. A memory she shouldn't have had, by rights. Miaka felt pity. But she did not think jealousy was the answer, and Kaen had not been there, and no one, she thought, should ever really be reduced to anything.

"It is not that simple," Miaka said softly. She stared out over the dark water and watched the reeds whisper over the surface. Ripples spread outward, small pristine ovals that curved and lapping and overlapped until they were barely recognizable as they pushed their way outward. Were they all born like they were, flawless and perfect, only to be warped and misshapen by the winds that life cast in their direction?

"Why?" said Kaen, sounding petulant and small and as unlike Soi as Miaka had ever heard her.

Wind lashed the water, sending the ripples into oblivion; the water became waves, which lapped gently against the shoreline. Miaka reached down, picked up a stone and skipped it, watching it settle in slow spirals to the bottom.

"Why can't it be simple?" said Kaen again, as the rain began to fall, lightly and gently, upon them.

_Because_, Miaka thought, a sigh leaving her lips, _nothing ever is._

-v-

At the ridge overlooking the river Shouryuu-gawa they spied a large band of demons snaking their way toward Eiyou, the Hong-Nan capital. Miaka could sense the cruel energy drifting off them in waves, like fumes off an oil slick. As a result, she was tense, agitated, dozed only fitfully during their rest stop though she was deathly tired.

"Can't we go some other way to Eiyou?" she asked Nakago. She hated being so close to the demons.

"The fastest route is along this ridge," said Nakago. "I assumed you would wish to arrive at the Hong-Nan Emperor's palace in time to warn him of what he will be facing."

Concealed in the shelter of the brush, Miaka watched the demon band nervously. This far away, it was impossible to distinguish their features. They looked human, of course; demons were only spirit energy, and they could not cause mischief without possessing a human form. "Whose bodies are they _using_?" Miaka asked.

"Society dregs, mercenaries, soldiers," said Nakago. He sounded bored.

"That's awful," said Miaka.

"Only a person with a weak soul would willingly admit a demon into his body."

"But there are so _many_ demons." She bit her lip. "Where are they all _coming_ from?"

He grasped her wrist and pulled her away from the ledge. "We need to move if we wish to reach Souen by tomorrow."

By mutual, unspoken assent, they had not discussed the night of the oak tree fire since its occurrence. Miaka, even less inclined to trust Nakago after her strange talk with Kaen, had nonetheless agreed to chi practice without complaint following the incident. She had been silent and withdrawn, speaking to him only to request a return to the use of a target that was not alive, for the moment, and when he had denied her this, she had nodded as though that was what she had been expecting. Her improvement, though by no means enormous, was at least substantial enough to satisfy Nakago for the time being.

Until that evening over dinner, when a sarcastic remark from Nakago provoked a reflexive attack that left a bit of Nakago's arm smoking. What had been said was not important, or else ceased to be in the wake of Miaka's horror. She did not understand how it had happened. He was supposed to dodge, had always dodged in time (apart from when he had touched her so many days ago, but that one had been severely deserved). It did not occur to her that their long practices and the demons below the ridge might be taking a toll on him as well as on her. Her lack of control made her miserable, reminded her of how unreliable her attacks still were, how tightly keyed to her emotions – and her emotions these days had never been more volatile.

-v-

"You will heal me," Nakago said, in lieu of their lesson that night. He could not help but notice how her eyes went wide and her lips almost trembled as she stared at him.

"Is that even possible?" she said faintly, and he glanced at her coolly. "Oh," she said.

Unlike a simple energy transfer, healing required significant focus and control – qualities normally acquired through months, even years, of practice. He was pushing the Suzaku no Miko hard, and it was starting to show in the tiredness that hung around her eyes.

Such measures were necessary. Having along one person who could manipulate chi – even a barely-trained miko – would enhance their odds in a battle significantly.

His own lack of power had never bothered him more than during their lessons. Faced with attacks which before he would have thrown off with laughable ease, Nakago was now forced to duck, dodge, and roll to the best of his not inconsiderable physical ability. He had miscalculated that evening, and it had resulted in an irritating injury that he could little afford. Perhaps it was his annoyance that caused him to press the Suzaku no Miko beyond her capabilities.

"Does this… hurt?"

Nakago could not help but notice how the Suzaku no Miko only touched his wounds gingerly, hardly meeting his eyes as she attempted a healing spell that was – should have been – far beyond the capabilities of a novice.

His expression had not changed since she began her operation. Perhaps she had interpreted his cool contemplation for anger. He glanced at the wound, which showed slight improvement.

"Continue," he said.

The miko's russet hair below his chin was practically iridescent as it caught the dying sunlight. She was on edge, holding herself tensely. Her chi tickled his burnt flesh – more annoying than unpleasant, like the brush of a feather over skin.

Her determination in the face of utter failure was surprising – almost palpable, despite the fact that she had been trying the same task for near to an hour. He wondered at her readiness to attempt this task, so beyond her abilities, when she was so reluctant to engage in battle. He thought about calling a halt to the exercise but did not. She had been treated as a weakling long enough. Her energy reserves were low, but he thought little of it. She had not taken up the usual whining tone that she sank into when she was tired.

Her focus – or perhaps her exhaustion – was causing her to lose her customary fear of him. She did not leap backward the next time he shifted position.

"Knit the flesh in your mind."

He knew the theory of this healing technique, but this was not a task he had excelled at. He was a warrior, not a healer; he sowed destruction; he did not cure it.

"I _will_ master this," she said.

Her head was bent forward, obscuring most of his view of her face. Too late he noted the sheer pallor of her skin, the perspiration dotting her forehead, her tightly-drawn breaths.

"_Stop._"

At his abrupt command, her head jerked upward, mouth slightly open. His admonishment was too unexpected, her motion too sudden. Her energy reserves, already dangerously low, spluttered and went out.

Miaka slumped forward, unconscious.

-v-

**A/N: **

This is late because I was finishing an internship and then moving and now I'm back at school and starting my thesis, so expect unpredictable updates going forward. Sorry. T_T

Thanks so much to _silent whisper, Jean Marie Darkholme, Alcestis, Marguerite Lily, AGrandMalfunction, megumisakura, Desert Renaissance, _and _flaire88_ for your feedback on the last chapter!

-v-

**Q/A:**

**Is Kaen hiding something? Why is she so secretive?**

She's not really being secretive in the previous chapter, she's just been through a lot of stuff she doesn't want to talk about.

**Why won't Nakago tell Miaka what really happened when he died? **

He doesn't want to.

**With Nakago gone, how does Kutou function without an emperor?**

Hopefully that was answered in this chapter!

A short Q/A this time… to accompany the insanely long chapter!


	18. Every secret shared

**From the previous chapter: **

_Her head was bent forward, obscuring most of his view of her face. Too late he noted the sheer pallor of her skin, the perspiration dotting her forehead, her tightly-drawn breaths._

"Stop."

_At his abrupt command, her head jerked upward, mouth slightly open. His admonishment was too unexpected, her motion too sudden. Her energy reserves, already dangerously low, spluttered and went out. _

_Miaka slumped forward, unconscious._

**XVIII**

**Every secret shared**

She was still breathing, but shallowly. After checking her heartbeat (slow but present), Nakago lowered her limp form to the ground. The night was cold and her current state of exhaustion left her especially vulnerable to the elements. He lowered the cloak over her and sat back coldly, feeling anger start to rise behind his temples. Why had she said nothing? Why had she made no complaint about her exhaustion, asked for a rest?

But she had been complaining less and less during their lessons, taking care not to show any sign of weakness, no matter how she dragged her feet with tiredness afterward. And her eyes had lit oddly when he had mentioned healing to her, hands trembling, lips almost paler than they were now. He had attributed her strange reaction to exhaustion and made little of it. He was rethinking that assumption now. Something was driving the Suzaku no Miko, a force that ran deeper than shame, deeper than superficial fate-of-the-world guilt over Tenkou's appearance. Nakago had a suspicion, but nothing like proof; proof would come later, but he sensed he was right.

He regarded her for a long moment, studying her face – pale against the dark blanket, immobile, frigid. The hollows beneath her eyes were dark; her jaw was tense, but she was not dreaming.

She did not wake the next morning. Kaen, who still limped but was mostly healed, helped clean up the camp, glancing toward Nakago every-so-often with the same silent accusation. Her cold avoidance of Nakago was beginning to irk him. Finished with breakfast, Kaen insisted on riding with Miaka, as though she did not trust Nakago with the miko's safety.

The Suzaku no miko slept through their noon meal, and she still had not woken by the time they reached the outskirts of Souen that afternoon. Her chi levels had stabilized, but her inner reserves remained abnormally low, and she had not eaten or drunk for a day.

Soi had returned sometime around midday. Her sharp eyes pierced the surrounding forest cover now, her spine frigid; she was alert, tense.

"My lord?"

He watched her as she pulled the horse to center, placing a steadying hand to the limp form before her.

"We are being followed," she said.

"He has been on our trail for the last two leagues and is alone," said Nakago. "His energy signature is not that of a demon."

Calmly, in a measured tone that could not conceal the slight widening of her eyes, Soi said, "You can sense chi."

Nakago raised an eyebrow. "That was always among my abilities, Soi."

"Not in this world," she said harshly, catching the weight of the unconscious miko on her shoulder as she wheeled the mare again. "If your powers are returning –"

"Sensing energy and harnessing it are worlds apart."

Soi regarded him for a long moment, skeptical but not protesting. If her cool expression hid questions, she did not voice them, as she once might have. Perhaps she had learned, by now, that such questions were pointless. Perhaps her mind was on other matters entirely.

For it was at that moment that the man who tracked them made a mistake that might have been fatal. At the sound of the stick snapping, Soi wheeled the horse around, already reaching for the knife at her belt. "Show yourself," she cried out, "unless you want a dagger in your throat."

Nakago did not move. Nakago watched the man who emerged: thickset but not plump; commanding but no war-leader; familiar of face to both Nakago and Soi.

"I apologize for following with stealth," said the intruder, unperturbed by the show of weaponry. "Something moved me seek out your camp when you took your noonday meal. The girl in your possession is a friend –"

He spoke cautiously. He was attempting to sound out whether or not they were aware of their former identities. Nakago could fake unawareness, but that would serve small purpose in the long run.

"You are a healer in this world also, are you not… Mitsukake?" said Nakago, cutting him off in the midst of his explanation.

Mitsukake regarded him with a cool level look that was fearless and calm. "That is correct… Nakago."

Nakago indicated the Suzaku no miko. "The girl overstrained herself yesterday and has been unconscious since."

Gently, Mitsukake smoothed Miaka's hair from her forehead. One thumb pressed against the lid of her eye, pulling it back. Her face was still pale.

"She will live," he said. "She is deeply exhausted. She has... recently lost someone dear to her, and that slows her recovery. I have medicines which will speed her return to health, but they are not with me. If you accompany me back to my abode, I will treat her."

"No," said Nakago. "You will treat her here."

"Some of the herbs I require are rare, difficult finds even in the right season, which this is not," said Mitsukake. "My wife, Shouka, is away overnight. You will not be disturbed at my house."

Nakago had planned to enter the town anyway to restock on supplies and find rest for the night. The air in this part of Hong-Nan was cold, and the miko would recover faster under a roof. Treachery was possible, but unlikely. The Suzaku seishi – like their miko – believed in things like trust and honor. Mitsukake had far more to fear from Nakago than Nakago from the healer.

"We will accompany you," he said.

-v-

The house was not large but it was clean and smelled of cooking. Miaka was laid on the bed in the spare bedroom, a narrow corner room with three windows and soft light. She remained still and unmoving, even as Mitsukake gently settled her onto the bed. The weather was overcast, but they could still see; Mitsukake pulled her eyelid back for a moment and nodded, as though in agreement with his previous diagnosis, before letting her eye close again.

"Let's see these herbs you spoke of, Healer," said Soi, not unkindly, but with a bite of impatience that was difficult to ignore.

"Willow bark, to soothe her when she wakes and to ease the pain of her overexertion; lanxing, to return her spirit."

There was a pause, in which the only sound was from the slight shifting of bodies within the cramped room, and during this pause the clouds seemed to drift and scatter, sun sifting in for a moment through the windows before the clouds claimed the sky again.

"Lanxing." Nakago's eyes were narrowed. "I did not know that was a healing flower."

Mitsukake shrugged. "There are no miko in this world so its usefulness here is likened to a myth; its use in the Shijintenchisho was limited to spiritual replenishment."

Crushed in Mitsukake's palm, confined to the enclosed space of the room, the lanxing sent a gentle and familiar scent through the room. On her pallet, the miko sighed and turned her head, the first obvious sign she had given that she was not in a permanent coma. She shifted in her sleep, grabbing Mitsukake's hand almost reflexively.

"She will wake in a moment," he said calmly. "We will wait."

But a knock on the front door forced Mitsukake, gently to pry Miaka's hand off of his and exit. "I will return soon," he said, at the doorway. "It is likely a customer."

Nakago watched the open window with an air of detached interest. The sky, which had foretold rain earlier, was looking brighter, the leaves of the ash tree glinting with the faint reflection of light from the sun.

"Miaka?" said Soi, behind him.

"Where am I?" said Miaka.

"You are in Mitsukake's house," said Soi.

"Mitsukake!"

"He'll be up here in a minute."

Nakago waited a moment before turning. The miko was watching him and watching Soi, an expression of deep puzzlement upon her face.

"What happened to me?"

The voices of Mitsukake and his caller were a soft murmur, indecipherable through the thick walls that separated them.

"You overstrained yourself," said Nakago, allowing coldness to enter his voice. She deserved little better, for taking such risks. "You have been asleep for the better part of a day."

"A _day_?" She couldn't have been sleeping for a day; they would be so far behind. A hand rose up to cover her mouth. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed. "But the demons headed for Eiyou!"

"_Lie down._"

It was not a request. Miaka glared at Nakago, who stared back impassively.

"We have to move," she said, crossing her arms and making to stand. "We need to travel as fast as possible, warn Hotohori… and Mitsukake. Are we in Souen? I want to talk to Mitsukake. Someone needs to tell him, his town is right in the river valley. We'll also need to restock on supplies – Ah!"

Miaka squeaked as Nakago strode forward and put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her back. He grabbed her wrist before she could attempt to attack him with her powers; even with Mitsukake's treatment, her energy levels were still worryingly low. An attack on him now might cause another bout of unconsciousness.

She leaned backward, eyes widening, as he lowered his face to her level. "We will not be wasting another day in Souen because a foolish miko took another unnecessary risk," he said, eyes like ice. "Lie back down… or will I be forced to make you rest by physical means?"

"You bastard," she hissed, attempting to strike him.

The door burst open.

_"Get away from Miaka, ye good-for-nothing murderer!"_

Nakago turned very slowly towards Tasuki, eyes narrowing slightly. "The pot ascribes actions to the kettle that cannot be solely credited to the latter," he said.

The bandit glared down the end of a very long and very lethal-looking blade. He did not have his tessen; it operated off demonic energy and was not a part of this world. Nonetheless, he appeared in perfect form, glaring and spitting mad and looking for a fight. At Nakago's words, his glower deepened, and he jabbed the blade threateningly toward Nakago's neck. "What the fuck is that supposed te mean?"

"I think he is perhaps referring to your hand in my death," Soi said. Mitsukake was trying to enter, and the room was too small to hold the five of them. "Excuse me," she said, and she swept past the healer.

"Tasuki!" Only Miaka seemed pleased to see the fiery-haired bandit. She stared up from the bed, russet curls fanning around her head like the leaves of an exotic plant. "How have you _been_?"

"What's this murderer been doing to you?"

"Tasuki." Mitsukake's voice was calm. "Put the blade down. Nakago holds no immediate threat, and Miaka does not need the added excitement."

"Have you forgotten what he's _done_?"

"What he has done does not have bearing on what he will do in this world. I admitted them into my house with the promise that they would not be harmed; if you break that promise, Tasuki, then only you will be in the wrong."

"Tasuki," said Miaka, attempting to rise out of bed again. "You don't have to worry, really. We've been traveling together for days now, and Nakago hasn't done anything truly horrible."

Nakago's eyes did not leave the blade that was still inches from his chest. "Your overwhelming faith in me is touching, miko."

"I wasn't asking you."

"So," said Tasuki, breathing heavily. "Been traveling together." He rounded on Nakago. "You kidnapped her!"

"That's not –" Miaka hesitated. He _had_ kidnapped her initially, but so much had happened since then… "That's _not_ how it is, Tasuki."

"Well then, how is it?"

Miaka released her breath in a huff. "I was trying to _explain_, but no one has given me the chance, not to mention that no one seems to think I'm capable even of walking these days!"

"You are suffering from an exhaustion of your energy stores, which excitement will exacerbate," said Nakago. "_I_ will explain."

-v-

If they were skeptical, their skepticism lessened when Miaka supported Nakago's story. They were more than a little alarmed by the description of the band of demons making its way down the river.

"Fucking demons," said Tasuki, shooting a nasty glare in Nakago's direction. "I'll kill them for you, Miaka, before they ever reach Eiyou. May not have my old tessen now, but I've got brawn and my fellow bandits; we'll help take 'em down."

"I _have_ missed you, Tasuki," Miaka said. She was practically on the verge of tears. How could she have believed that her seishi no longer cared for her?

"It's the darndest thing," said Tasuki honestly. "When you're away, I barely even remember who you are, and yet here I am, and I can't imagine how I could forget… Pure chance I was visiting Mitsukake today, got an old wound acting up, and then I see you an' that _bastard_ of a Seiryu seishi, and the memories all come straight back."

"It is the same for me," said Mitsukake. "The memories returned when I encountered you, Nakago, and Soi in the woods."

Miaka shook her head. "The Seiryuu seishi have no trouble recollecting."

"Perhaps the priestess of Seiryuu just had a better memory than yer own."

Miaka threw Mitsukake's satchel at Tasuki. He caught it before it collided with his shoulder and tossed it back to her.

"Tasuki may have a point," said Mitsukake, confiscating the satchel before herbs began flying in all directions. He looked very tired. "Have you ever considered that the characteristics of a priestess' seishi may be a reflection of the priestess' own qualities?"

"Yes," said Miaka. It was interesting that they had all come to the same conclusion. She certainly had not expected the words to come from Tasuki's mouth.

"We had a few chats on the matter months ago, in the Shijintenchisho," said Mitsukake, as though reading her thoughts. "It is true that Suzaku did a remarkable job matching us."

"Still," said Miaka, looking around for something else to throw and finding only her pot of tea. "My memory is not _so_ bad that I forget the existence of someone I've last seen only two months ago!"

"Might I propose another theory?"

Three heads swiveled toward Nakago. Two were surprised. It was obvious that Miaka and Tasuki had near forgotten about Nakago's presence in the room.

Miaka raised her chin. She had a suspicion that Nakago's theory was going to be an unpleasant one. Sometime during her journey, she had begun to recognize a certain gleam in his eyes. She would have liked to call it the 'Make-Miaka's-Life-Hell' look. He ought to get it patented.

"You're going to propose it regardless," she said with alacrity, settling back against the pillow and raising her chin. "Well? Let's have it."

The slight smile that played about Nakago's lips was hardly soothing. "Perhaps the Seiryu seishi's memories are stronger because the seal on Seiryu is weakening."

"What?"

Tasuki leapt upright. On the bed, Miaka tensed and leaned forward, reaching for Tasuki's hand, which was gesturing angrily at Nakago.

"I'll see you dead before your powers return," said Tasuki, ignoring Miaka's attempts at peacemaking, "you good-fer-nothin' –"

"Please sit down, Tasuki." Mitsukake rubbed his forehead. "What makes you believe the seal on Seiryuu, but not Suzaku, is weakening, Nakago?"

Miaka glanced sharply at Nakago. He met her eyes, a long, cool stare. "An incident, one week back," he said.

The words were smooth, cool, unscathing; nonetheless Miaka knew his eyes were on her; knew what incident he was considering; knew his eyes were on her because he wished her to remember that incident and think on it. He was telling her something, and she suddenly comprehended, but it was a terrible thing to comprehend.

The seal on Seiryuu _was_ weakening, she knew this because Seiryuu had managed to possess her and return power to his seishi one week back. Worse, she suddenly knew _why_ the seal was weakening, and why Suzaku would be weakened. Suzaku, sealed by his miko and his own powers, was battling himself, while Seiryuu raged only against Suzaku's power.

Guilt, raw and sharp, caused her to close her eyes as she leaned back against the pillow.

She had doomed them all.

-v-

**A/N: **A quick update this time. You can see this same message on my profile, but I'll put it here anyway:

I am determined to finish posting Part II by the end of summer. After that, all bets are off, but I swear that I WILL get Part II posted by the time school starts. Meaning it should be done ~ Labor Day! It may be in rougher form than I'd like, but it WILL get posted. (Unnecessarily vehement use of the future tense nonwithstanding.)

I hope the characters aren't _too_ OOC in this chapter. (I was so happy to get to Mitsukake and Tasuki though – yay!) As I said up there, everything's going to be a bit rougher – because I care more about finishing at this point than making it perfect. But do let me know if anything really bothers you… and a big thanks to _flaire88, Maruguerite Lily, Jean Marie Darkholme, _and _Desert Renaissance_ for reviewing and motivating me to post this quick update!

-v-

**Q/A:**

**Hmmm... why do I get the feeling that "something" happened between Soi and Nakago when Miaka left? I mean how else can you explain the reason why Kaen's so grumpy the next day?**

This is one of those cases where I didn't _intend_ for anything to happen there, but I see your point... Either way it wouldn't change the plotline, so I'll leave it ambiguous – feel free to think whatever you want!

**Is Nakago actually jealous of Miaka?**

Maybe just a little (that might be one layer of why he was so hard on her) but obviously that's not the whole story. Hey, he's a complex guy…

**How exactly does Miaka's power work? ****Is it just chi manipulation or is she like a firestarter?**

She can use her chi to start fires? _*sweatdrop*_

**How will Hotohori react when he sees Miaka?**

Hmm… it'll be awhile before we actually reach Eiyou so you'll have to wait on that score. Personally though, I think Tasuki's reaction (in this chapter), and Nuriko's (when we reach Eiyou), are a bit more exciting. Hotohori is too perfect to really flip out to the degree that, say, Tasuki can…

**What happened to this Nakago as a child?**

This Nakago has both his Shijintenchisho memories as well as this-world's memories of childhood. Let's call his Shijintenchisho self 'Nakago', and his this-world self 'Ayuru', for simplicity. You'll hear more about Ayuru's memories in Part III, but I will say that there are some differences (because, of course, Tenkou and Seiryuu and chi manipulation didn't exist in this world) but, as you probably guessed, Ayuru's past was not daisies and bunny rabbits.


	19. Why do I drink

_**Excerpt from the previous chapter:**_

_The seal on Seiryuu was weakening, she knew this because Seiryuu had managed to possess her and return power to his seishi one week back. Worse, she suddenly knew why the seal was weakening, and why Suzaku would be weakened. Suzaku, sealed by his miko and his own powers, was battling himself, while Seiryu raged only against Suzaku's power._

_Guilt, raw and sharp, caused her to close her eyes as she leaned back against the pillow._

_She had doomed them all._

**XIX**

**Why do I drink**

"The demons will come through Souen long before they reach Eiyou; we are the first in line for their desecration. We need to take a stand now, beat them back before they can invade the town."

It was only evening still; the sunlight that drifted through the cherry blossoms and across her face suggested it would soon be nightfall. Idly, Miaka lay on her back, listening to the words that floated to her through the closed door to the kitchen. She must have dozed off again.

The voice that had spoken was Mitsukake's; she recognized his calm speech anywhere. She heard the measured tones of a voice that was unmistakably Nakago's giving reply: "The Suzaku no Miko, Soi, and I will be traveling to Eiyou at the earliest opportunity. We cannot afford to waste time, if we wish to cut at the heart of the demons' source."

It was not his voice that had woken her, nor Mitsukake's calm tones; she had to strain her ears to hear them through the wall and door that separated her from the kitchen. The voice that had woken her had been hotheaded, loud, and rash. The voice that had woken her had been –

"Is that right?"

"Tasuki," said Mitsukake.

"Ya think we're going te let you anywhere near Miaka?" said Tasuki. "Do ye really think after what you've done, you have the _right_ to be in the same house as Miaka, much less _travel_–"

From voice alone, Miaka could not determine if Tasuki was glowering or laughing with derision or gesturing rudely. Perhaps he was doing all three at once. On the bed, Miaka tensed and fidgeted, smoothing the covers with her fingers. She heard a hard sound, like knuckles cracking in preparation for a fight. _Oh dear_, thought Miaka, and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress.

"Considering that you can hardly remember her existence when she is removed from your sight," Nakago said silkily, "I believe she would be as safe traveling with you as she would with any demon."

"Ye saying that _I_ would hurt Miaka?" Miaka could hear the indignation in Tasuki's shout, could almost feel his fury from one room away. "This coming from a murdering, yellow-bellied, child-raping –"

Footsteps, a gasp, a loud, strangled curse. Forgetting, for the moment, that her body felt like spaghetti, Miaka surged out of bed and stormed into Mitsukake's kitchen. Later, she would liken the momentary surge of strength to the feeling a mother tiger gets in defending a threatened cub, though Tasuki would no doubt be offended by the comparison.

Nakago's right hand circled Tasuki's throat, holding him above the ground, back pressed against the wall. Tasuki's eyes were popping slightly; his mouth worked uselessly.

"Should I destroy you now," Nakago said lazily, "or do you intend to actually be of some use to us?"

"Go… to hell…"

"Nakago!" Miaka said sharply. "Put Tasuki down!"

Mitsukake, who had been about to intervene, shot her a troubled look, a look that was part concern at her being awake and part something else she couldn't fathom. Miaka, who was weighing the odds of using her next-to-nonexistent powers on Nakago, did not spare very long trying to fathom it. Miaka wished she did not feel so desperately weak. Tasuki spluttering, face turning slightly blue, twisted his head toward her, gasped out:

"What're… you… doing… should be… in bed…"

"For once, bandit, we actually agree on something."

"_Let him go,_" Miaka said, grabbing the arm that pinned Tasuki to the wall and tugging on it. "He'll be on his best behavior from now on, I swear."

She thought he wasn't going to; she thought she would have to attack. She was readying herself (with _chi_ that she did not have), closing her eyes and holding herself steady, ironically, against Nakago's arm.

But Nakago released Tasuki, and Tasuki fell to the ground, gasping for air but very much alive. Miaka gasped herself, and Nakago glanced at her, almost derisively.

"That, Tasuki," said a voice from the doorway, "was even stupider than usual. No da."

There was a flurry in the room as heads swiveled to look at the speaker, who had opened the door in the midst of the commotion. And then Miaka was upright and smiling, hurrying toward the person she did not realize she had been desperately missing until that moment.

"Chichiri!"

Midway to the doorway, however, she realized that her legs were not yet steady. She stumbled, eyes widening as she began to fall, but Nakago saw her and caught her weight against him as she overbalanced. Somehow she found her chest pressed against his arm; her side against his chest. She remained in that position for a moment, too startled to move.

"I knew you were not graceful." At the sound of Nakago's voice, her head jerked up to stare into his face. His blue eyes gleamed with amusement. "This time you have outdone yourself, miko."

She pushed herself away from him. "Curse you." Her heart was still pounding. She leaned one hand upon the table, reached for Chichiri's hand with the other, and grasped it, smiling a bright smile that seemed to light up the room. Chichiri's hand was reassuringly warm, and she felt strangely better. Chichiri, more even than Mitsukake, had a calming effect on most people.

"Chichiri," she said, "how are you? What are you _doing _here?"

He was in the area visiting, he explained. He visited often, almost weekly, because Mitsukake and he were practically neighbors, and in this world were friendly as healer and monk, not merely as Suzaku seishi. Chichiri liked to wander, as he had done in the Shijintenchisho, but his journeys took him mostly up and down the river.

He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, considering what to say briefly before uttering it. He wore his mask, which was, by default, pleasant, but Miaka sensed a genuine smile underneath it and thought he was glad to see her. "I had to be careful this visit, no da," he said lightly. "There are demons all over the valley."

Chichiri offered his free hand to Tasuki, who was still on the ground, pulling him upright with a swift smooth movement that nearly caused the bandit to overbalance. "You'll end up on the floor less when you learn to learn to control your temper, no da."

With worried eyes, Miaka studied Chichiri's face. The fact that Chichiri wore his mask made this action completely useless, but it made Miaka feel better regardless. "How many demons?" she said. "What do you mean they're all over the valley?"

"That's it," Tasuki, wheezed, still rubbing his throat. "Someone needs te take a scouting party out te look."

But Mitsukake rested a hand on his shoulder, guiding him into a chair. "You have been hotheaded enough for the day," he said, glancing significantly at Chichiri. "Scouting a demon encampment will require subtlety."

"An' what does that mean?" Tasuki said indignantly.

Miaka knew. She could picture it. Still irate from his brush with Nakago, Tasuki would storm from Mitsukake's house. He would not be thinking of the right things as he was scouting; would not be watching for the right sorts of sounds and signals; would be confused, perhaps, by a mislaid trail or a trap laid by demons; a small error, that was all it would take. And then? She shuddered.

"It means I need you to stay here and guard me," she told Tasuki brightly, grasping his arm. "In case any demons start entering Souen. Let Chichiri go scout for demons."

"It will not change our decision," Nakago said behind her. "We are departing tomorrow at first light."

Miaka's eyes narrowed, even as she held her spine stiffly. "Can I talk to you?" she said sweetly.

"I believe we are conversing already, dear Suzaku no Miko."

She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth.

"_Outside._"

Tasuki, her self-made personal guard now, reached for her arm and grabbed it before she could cross the threshold. "You ain't talkin' to him," he said hoarsely. "Yer supposed te be in bed. I'll talk to him for you."

"And what will you say?" Miaka said, more coldly than she'd intended. Between Tasuki and Nakago, demons and Tenkou, it was a wonder she didn't go mad. If she was inclined to get migraines, one would be forming in her temples right now, a killer that felt like hordes of hippos trampling a mad path in the region above her eyebrows. She frowned at Tasuki, frustration building behind her temples, though she tried to stop it. "Will it be something with lots of cursing and rude gestures that'll make him pin you to the wall again? Don't be absurd, Tasuki, we just need to talk. I'll be fine."

She swept past him without another word, and he, too shocked to move, stared toward her retreating figure with a half-open mouth. Mitsukake closed Tasuki's jaw for him helpfully and pulled him back into the kitchen.

"He's done something to her," said Tasuki, struggling against Mitsukake's grip. "Did you see that, just now? She's not right, she's actin' weird – We need te –"

"We need to wait," said Mitsukake, "and to think."

"No," said Tasuki vehemently, "we need to act!"

Briefly, Mitsukake considered the wall next to the stovetop. It would be cathartic, but not quite professional, to smack his head against it a few times. He was mature, and patient, and he did not need to resort to such measures. Besides, Shouka would be mad if she came home and found the wall dented.

"Tasuki," he said slowly, "do you remember Miaka after Tamahome's death? How was she acting?"

If anything could sober Tasuki, it was the reminder of the death of his fellow-seishi-friend-rival. Tasuki bent his head low, accidentally knocking it against the table. The memories were fuzzier now, though Miaka was only in the garden, not far-off by any means. Tasuki struggled blankly for a moment before his mind gave them over.

"She acted dead," he said slowly. "Like she was the one who'd died and not Tamahome."

Mitsukake nodded toward the window to the gardens, where Miaka's form stood, hands-on-hips, eyes flashing dangerously. "I think," he said dryly, "that this may be an improvement. Don't you?"

-v-

Miaka had rounded on Nakago as soon as they were through the doors to Mitsukake's house, pushing him away from her when he mockingly offered his arm. She was breathing hard, but not just with exertion.

"I'll thank you not to almost kill my friends while I am within hearing distance!"

He noted her loophole a second before Miaka did. She glared. "Not when I'm out of hearing distance either – not ever! Do you understand?"

"And what leads you to believe," he murmured, "that I take orders from the Suzaku no Miko?"

She floundered for a moment.

"It's not to your benefit to antagonize my friends," she said. "They outnumber you. They remember you. This is their land, which you've forgotten more than once." She glared. "You have no respect for their boundaries, or for mine!"

His lip curled. "No," he said.

She lifted her chin, her eyes glittering. "I _will_ be staying here and fighting with them. I will not abandon my friends."

"Not even when they would be better served by the completion of your mission? My dear Suzaku no Miko, I knew you were a fool –"

She sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to waste precious energy in an attack. His eyes glittered. She said:

"Why are you here at all, Nakago? You can tell me that at least!"

"I am not obliged to tell you anything, Suzaku no Miko."

"I could have set a barrier over you in the middle of the night, made a run for it before you even knew I was gone. The only reason I haven't, yet," said Miaka, "was that if you had wished to murder me you could have done so a hundred times before we reached Hong-Nan. But I've seen what you're capable of, and I'm dead sure you aren't here for altruistic reasons." A sudden suspicion, a horrible one, flashed across her mind. "Are you using me to get close to Hotohori?"

"I am not," said Nakago.

"You're lying," said Miaka, her rising conviction lending panic to her voice. "After what you've done – slaying the emperor of Kutou in cold blood before my eyes, killing Saheitei in the old Shijintenchisho, I don't see how I can believe you."

Nakago shrugged.

"Believe what you will. Tenkou's dominion of the mortal realm would not be to anyone's benefit, least of all my own."

"You didn't think so before!" Miaka cried. "You _worshipped_ Tenkou once, didn't you, Nakago?"

"And you turned your back on the deity you fought under."

She flinched. The hurt silence drew on, and Miaka was aware of the feel of her bare feet on cold stone, the halo the sun made through Nakago's fair hair. Though his eyes glinted in the sunlight, they were eerily cold.

"Circumstances change, miko."

-v-

As a final and inevitable distraction, Mitsukake had allowed Tasuki to discover his hidden and very valuable store of sake. It had been successful, as nothing else could have been: Tasuki's fondness for things alcoholic was only matched by his terror of women (particularly the ones who forced him to pet-sit their children. Tasuki hated his sisters' children. They were horrible, bratty creatures just entering the toddler years, and who bawled and clung to him and called him 'Uncle Tookie!' even when he ordered them to stop).

And so it was Soi found Tasuki in the act of opening his second bottle when she returned from restocking their supplies in the town. Soi, though a woman, was also a warrior. Tasuki was fairly certain she had no offspring of toddler age, and he was also drunk enough that his fear response was, if not dead, at least safely slumbering.

And so he called out to her as he fought with the cork (which seemed to be winning; it was dancing all over the place annoyingly, shifting positions whenever he tried to grab for it).

"Soi?" he said.

She was tired, torn, and aching. She could feel the onset of another battle for dominance with Kaen already beginning. It was giving her a headache.

She paused, barely regarding the bandit with the orange hair, but listening.

"No hard feelings, all right? I didn't mean te kill you. I don't hurt women."

She blinked at him across the table that divided them, surprised at the near-apology that had just emerged from his mouth darkened with wine. _He is not sober,_ she thought, _it is no surprise that he is saying these things._ But she could humor him, regardless, this rash Suzaku seishi who acted without thinking.

"Apology accepted," she murmured, inclining her head.

Tasuki seemed to hesitate, and she watched him, wondering what he was after. It was easier to watch him than to move. She saw him lift the bottle, tilt his head at a slight, inquiring angle.

"Ye want some?"

She was tired – her head pounded as though a thousand elephants were roving through it in circles – she could barely think straight, and _Kaen… _Soi sensed that drinking right now would be a terrible idea.

"All right," she said, and she surprised herself by sitting down upon the chair opposite Tasuki. He looked surprised for an instant, and then his face split into a toothy, but genuine smile. She regarded him with disinterest, accepting the glass that he offered and trying not to think.

The first sip burned her throat like fire, but she knew enough to expect that; the second glass seemed to numb some of the ache in her heart.

After the third glass, she put her cup down with a clatter. She could feel Soi losing control, and she realized suddenly that at the rate she was drinking, the question of whether she was Kaen or Soi might soon cease to matter.

"Soi?"

Tasuki, already drunk, seemed to realize none of her inner struggle. He regarded her with something like admiration. Her eyes narrowed.

"Did dying hurt?" said Tasuki. There was interest and worry in his voice. He hiccoughed. "Sorry," he said sloshily. "If you want te not remember –"

"No…" She was numb enough that she could look back on her memories of that day without flinching. "I remember mostly flashes, memory fragments." It all seemed so hazy, so blurred – the sight of a sword headed for Nakago, response without thinking, then pain.

"What happened after?" she murmured.

She'd gathered small amounts from her earlier conversations with Miaka, but these had given her scarce detail. Tokaki and Subaru had tried, but they had not known; they had not been on the battlefield of Konan, and they could not tell her what she desperately wished to know: what had happened after she died.

Tasuki set down his glass with a thump, stared at her with a look that was uncharacteristically serious. Not angry, not worried, only serious. "Good fer nothing bastard out there took over every world in sight," he said. "Killed a bunch of people. And we fought. We fought back."

Soi bit back her irritation. Those on her side had died, too – she knew Suboshi, at least, had not made it out unscathed. "Who died?" she said.

"Bunch of people. Mitsukake. Saheitei. Yeah, the Emperor of Hong-Nan." Tasuki took a large gulp and snorted, not really with amusement. "Bet ye didn't know yer precious Nakago killed Hotohori with you in his arms."

"What?"

Her head was pounding. She brushed her palms against the cloth of her skirt to dry them, but they remained clammy with cold sweat.

Tasuki set his glass down again. He watched her carefully, studying her, and she felt almost exposed. That was ridiculous; he was more than a little drunk and would remember none of this discussion in the morning. She caught his eye and held it coldly.

"Yeah," he muttered, somewhat subdued. "Bastard carried you off the battlefield. He was still holding you, whole time he fought Saheitei."

Soi heard the door open and slam shut again, turned to see Miaka, half-supporting herself on the lintel. Miaka, who looked as though she had been planning to throw herself into a chair at the table, stopped cold the sight of Soi's face. "Soi?" she said.

"It's fine, Miaka."

"You look awful. I'll get Mitsukake."

"_Miko…_"

As though the mere sound of his name had the power to summon him from afar, the healer entered the room. Fighting irritation, Soi rose, uncomfortably aware of the perspiration beading her forehead. The sick feeling of another inner struggle was intensifying. She swallowed.

"Are you quite all right, Soi?" Mitsukake asked gently, setting down the pot of herbs he was carrying.

Soi's lips contorted into a grimace.

"I'm going out," she said abruptly. The door slammed behind her.

Mitsukake frowned and made to follow Soi; Miaka clasped his hand.

"Mitsukake," she said, staring at the healer with worried eyes, "Have you ever heard of a problem called split personalities?"

-v-

**A/N:** Whew! Only 4 more chapters to go before the never-ending Part II is over, thank god! (Well maybe you're not relieved, but I am. The writing for Part III is so much better. IMHO.)

Thanks so much to _Desert Renaissance, Marguerite Lily, Alcestis, Jean Marie Darkholme, flaire88, and Kags21 _for your reviews this time round. I love getting feedback, even a simple 'What the hell just happened?' or 'Soi's losing her marbles!'

-v-

**Q/A: **

**Why are the seishi turning up so fast? **

Because the story was moving slowly and the author was getting tired of it? *cringe* On a more serious note, I actually looked at a map of Hong-Nan at one point, and Chichiri and Mitsukake are nearly neighbors (both lived on the river growing up). As for Tasuki, he's just visiting.

**I'm guessing that Soi's death via a sword thrown by Tasuki is still a sore point with Nakago…?**

Yep! Nakago really dislikes Tasuki. As indicated by his pinning Tasuki to the wall in this chapter ^_^

**In Chapter 17, was Nakago telling the truth about never having dreams?**

Obviously it's impossible to stop dreaming entirely, but there are ways to minimize dreaming. For instance, tiredness/exhaustion tends to be associated with lack of dreams. To dream, you need to be in REM sleep, which usually becomes more and more prevalent the closer you are to morning. So Nakago could probably achieve a near-dreamless state (or at least a situation where he doesn't remember his dreams, because you DO need some REM to stay healthy) by purposefully wearing himself out a great deal every day, by getting insufficient rest, etc. (I think I unintentionally accomplished this last semester… I don't recall dreaming at ALL, and I used to have all sorts of dreams. It was kind of sad.)

Or, if you don't like that theory… he could be such a light sleeper that whenever he starts to have a nightmare he instantly recognizes it and pulls himself awake. Some people are conscious of when they are dreaming, so this is also a possibility.

**Is the reason Miaka is so determined to heal her way of validating to herself that she's not a complete failure?**

That's definitely part of it. But there's a little more than that…

**I guess the return to Eiyou is going to be more difficult for Miaka because she will be constantly reminded of her dead husband and of their memories together?**

You betcha.

**If Nakago was correct when he concluded that Seiryuu's seal might be weakening then I wonder how long would it take for the seal to be completely broken and what would happen then to Suzaku?**

Suzaku is being constantly weakened by having to both seal himself and seal Seiryuu – the more Seiryuu grows in strength, the weaker Suzaku will become. It's not a good situation, because both gods (plus Byakko and Genbu) are needed to seal Tenkou. It's also a matter of time before Seiryuu breaks free…

**Are Miaka's powers Suzaku's? Or are they her own?**

They are her own. Suzaku is weak/sealed/in bad shape. But as I said… somewhere… Miaka's powers will be explained, in the very distant future.

**How does Miaka keep her sanity with all the suffering she endured? Shouldn't she have broken down by now?**

People, in general, are typically stronger than we give them credit for. I think that underneath it all, Miaka is a strong person. Right after Tamahome's death, she DID suffer intense depression, and nearly died, but now she has a goal and a task in mind to keep her focused. Having to worry about the demons (and Nakago!) may be a blessing in disguise for Miaka; it takes her mind off of Tamahome's death and forces her to deal with the matter at hand. (It also helps that Miaka left Hong-Nan and wasn't constantly reminded of the place where Tamahome died…) She HAS changed, as Tasuki notes in this chapter, but she isn't ready to lose her sanity just yet. She will break down eventually, just not yet…

**Is Soi jealous of Miaka? Nakago's devoting lots of time to Miaka…**

If she is jealous, it's probably only slightly so. Nakago is certainly not "bringing Miaka red roses and candy", and Soi has her own problems to deal with right now, which are currently keeping her too occupied to dwell on the attention Nakago's devoting to Miaka to train her…


	20. The feelings dry

**XX**

**The feelings dry**

Soi felt Mitsukake settle himself beside her on the step. The evening sun was brilliant, lighting her eyes as though with fire.

"A beautiful view, is it not, Soi?" said Mitsukake. When she did not answer, he smiled gently. "You are still Soi, I believe?"

He saw her tense, and then relax again. Wind drifted over them, causing tendrils of hair to unwind, gently, from her braid. Soi did not face him but continued to stare, across the garden, across the lake, into the mountains toward the sunset. The light hurt her eyes, but it was a different kind of pain than that brought on by the struggle of holding onto this body as _Soi_; it helped her to focus, to think. The sunlight cast green, gold, and blue spots across her vision, so vibrant they were almost blinding.

_If I were to go blind,_ she thought_, all this would cease to matter._

"The miko told you," she said coolly, into the silence.

Mitsukake nodded, and he too watched as clouds drifting across the red-gold sky like leaves on a river. But as the golds turned to lilacs and deeper rich hues, he also looked at Soi on occasion. He noticed the sweat that still beaded her brow, though the night air was cool, and he did not believe it had anything to do with drink.

"Have you been doing this often," he said, "fighting the change from Soi to Kaen, until the dominant soul collapses from exhaustion and the other one takes control?"

An ibis took off from a tree near the bank and circled, catching the light on white wings, and coming to land with a splash near the opposite shoreline.

"Kaen is stubborn," Soi said, lips barely moving.

"Quite probably she thinks the same of you."

Mitsukake was a large man, tall in stature and wide about the shoulders; and yet, his demeanor was so unassuming, his eyes so gentle, that when asked to describe him, it was never his size that came up but his face. His smile was that of a friend, of a man you could trust. The living told him deep and dark secrets as he healed them; he would not repeat them; this they knew. The dying who he treated told him their last wishes; he would see them done.

At one time, Soi the warrior would have scorned Mitsukake as a pacifist. Had circumstances been different, she would never have allowed him to question her. Now, faced with the evidence of her own weakness, she could not stand up and sweep past him without a word.

"She does not, _will_ not, trust Nakago," Soi said. Her voice rang out harshly against the gentleness of the night, and the ibis rose, wary, from its feeding spot in the side-marsh along the lake. "To have any kind of peace from her I have had to promise to treat him coldly, and yet –"

"And yet, I believe Soi loves him."

The sun had gone in behind the mountains, and the light that struck her face was what was scattered off the clouds. It made her features softer, almost vulnerable. She composed herself swiftly, and the harshness returned, but it seemed muted in the growing darkness.

"The sentiment was not reciprocated," she said sharply, as though seeking to convince herself as much as Mitsukake. "Perhaps this is for the best."

The shadows accentuated the darkness beneath her eyes, her deep weariness. Mitsukake released a sigh.

"Child –" he said, and Soi tensed at his tone. "I'm sure you know this already, but I will remind you: you have to stop resisting Kaen."

"I can't," she said, but he said, "You will have to."

There was a girl he had once known, and he spoke of her now. She had grown up the stepdaughter to the powerful lord of a province. Rich and prominent, she should have been happy, but her stepfather had mistreated her in such cruel ways that she had split her soul – created another self to hold the painful memories while her main self went about her daily life. That had not been enough to keep the trauma at bay, so she had split her soul again, and then another time.

"Is she still alive?" said Soi, "or did she kill herself to end her torment?"

"She lives."

"I suppose she's gone mad by now." _Four _souls. Soi could not imagine.

Mitsukake laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"She accepted who she was, that the painful memories were as much a part of her as the happy ones. And she has found peace, as much peace as can be found for a midwife in a land where babies are constantly being born," he said.

"Is there any chance that I could meet this woman?"

"A large chance, I should think." Mitsukake smiled blissfully. "You see, Shouka is my wife."

-v-

Chichiri returned from scouting around midnight bearing ill news indeed.

The demons had climbed the ridge and circled around them. Miaka, it seemed, would get her wish to remain with her seishi at Souen after all. Their party was cut off on all sides: demons had infiltrated the ridge they had descended to reach Souen, and the ridge on the opposite shore was too steep to consider scaling. Nor could they continue up- or down-river by boat; demons were camped beside the falls below the Shoryuu-Gawa, and the river above them was blocked. They would need to fight their way free to escape the valley.

"So many demons!" Miaka said despairingly. "Where are they all _coming_ from?"

She had refused to return to bed unless they moved the strategy meeting to her room; consequently, Nakago, Kaen, and the Suzaku seishi were crowded into the small guest bedroom on the first floor. Nakago noted coolly that the Suzaku no Miko actually seemed improved when she was conversing with Chichiri and Mitsukake, catching up on local news and wolfing down dinner like a bear just emerging from hibernation. With the increased social contact, her chi levels were fast improving. Nakago sensed that she would be fully recovered by morning, a recovery nothing short of miraculous given the magnitude of her weakness the evening before. Her surprising resilience was not lost on him. It appeared that the Suzaku no Miko drew strength from her seishi – though certainly not in the conventional manner.

The miko was smoothing her coverlet with one hand – compulsively, or by habit. Perhaps her question had been rhetorical, but she seemed to be waiting. She glanced at the surrounding group as though seeking reassurance – what kind of reassurance he was not certain, for she quickly looked down again and resumed pressing her fingers to the dove-and-brown bedspread.

"The source of the demons does not concern us now," said Nakago. He stood near the window, looking out coolly over the moonlit waters of the Shoryuu-Gawa. "How many have gathered beneath the falls?"

He had an idea, but he sensed that broaching it in current company would be a delicate affair.

"Two hundred, no da," said Chichiri. "They have blocked all routes in and out of the valley."

Mitsukake looked grim. The town's entire population numbered only three hundred, and half of those were children, elders, women not accustomed to wielding weapons.

"Where are they all coming from?" Miaka said again.

"From Hell," said Nakago, because he knew it would disturb her. He took a sip of tea, allowed his eyes to drift to the window. "This lake is actually a part of the Shoryuu-Gawa. It is man-made, dammed on the west side, with falls below. Is that not so?"

Silence met his query. Miaka, despite the thick covers that guarded her from the chill, could feel the hair rising on her arms. She did not understand what he had said, why Mitsukake's face suddenly looked like it had been carved from stone.

"Chichiri?" she said uncertainly.

"It is, no da," he replied, in a cool monotone.

"What the –"

The sudden icy atmosphere that had sprang up in the room was almost palpable. Miaka crossed her arms, stared from one seishi to another in mute confusion. "What's going on?"

Chichiri shrugged. "Shortly before your arrival into the Shijintenchisho, the Shogun of Kutou decided it would be to his tactical advantage to divert a river in order to gain territory in Hong-Nan. The attack would have led to the destruction of a peaceful village that was Kutou's ally."

Miaka turned accusing eyes on Nakago.

"The attempt was unsuccessful," he said coldly.

"But not for lack of his trying," Mitsukake murmured.

"Well," said Miaka, replacing her teacup on the bed-stand with an emphatic thump. "It's easy to see why everyone around here loves you so much."

Nakago shrugged. He had no desire to make excuses for his behavior in the Shijintenchisho; to do so would waste his time and theirs.

"You want to release the dam," said Mitsukake. "Drain the lake and sweep the demons in the valley below us downriver?"

"That would work," said Miaka, growing excited. "With the demons gone, we could escape by boat, or by walking along the edge of the river –"

"But if we were to release the waters held by the dam," said Chichiri, "it would destroy other villages farther down the river, no da."

Miaka's felt her excitement deflate with slight sucking sound, the sound of hope sharply vanishing into a void.

"And yet if the demons are on the warpath," Nakago said bluntly, "that will be the ultimate result."

"No." Mitsusake caught Nakago's eyes and held them. "The attack must be localized to target only the invaders, no one else. Otherwise, we become no better than the demons we are fighting."

Nakago's hands were folded coolly before him; he watched Mitsukake but said nothing. Miaka held her breath. It was Tasuki, still slightly drunk, eyes brooding, who broke the silence from one corner of the room.

"Then the only way is te fight our way out?" said Tasuki. "Take all the villagers who can come to the mountains? Leave yer homes an' hide?"

Another silence pervaded the room, deeper and grimmer this time. Once voiced, this option seemed to hang over them like a stormcloud. Miaka did not want to look at Mitsukake's face; she knew it would be stoic. This was Mitsukake's home, and Shouka's.

"If there is no other way," said Mitsukake heavily.

Miaka put her hand on his, and he glanced toward her, grateful.

"If we all head for Eiyou," said Miaka, "I know that Hotohori –"

But Mitsukake was shaking his head, smiling at her in a strained sort of way. "We will be too slow," he said, and she stared at him in confusion.

"Mitsukake is right, no da. You must get to Eiyou quickly," Chichiri said in quiet tones. "The most important thing now is to summon the gods. You will go ahead of the villagers, warn Hotohori of what's coming. Seeing you safe is most important, no da. You will leave tomorrow, while the villagers are fighting."

"We're leaving with the villagers?" said Miaka.

"Rash," said Nakago, and they all looked at him. "There is no guarantee that the villagers will escape. With women and children among them, they will be a prime target for the demon attack."

"So what do ye propose, then?" said Tasuki.

"While you were exploring the demon camp, I conducted a minor investigation of my own," said Nakago.

"And why does that not surprise me," Miaka muttered into her tea.

Nakago's eyes moved toward the window, across the lake to the opposite shore, where the steep cliffs with nesting birds hung like an omen.

"The cliffs across the lake," he said, "hide certain paths, overgrown trails that are barely visible but nonetheless serve their purpose. I followed one such trail and found myself at the top of the ridge."

"Those paths have not been used in years," said Mitsukake wonderingly. "They are in such disrepair that I did not think of them."

Nakago smiled, and Miaka got a very bad feeling in her stomach, like the feeling one gets after accidentally ingesting rocks. She swallowed.

"I hope, my dear miko, that you are up for a climb."

-v-

Miaka awoke with an urgent feeling humming through her nerves. The air seemed to her to be crackling with energy, poisonous, pervasive, deadly energy that set the hairs of her neck on end. War was on the horizon, a battle between underworld and the living that she knew no one was ready for.

But there was one thing to be grateful for, and that was her hasty recovery, which Mitsukake termed nothing short of miraculous. Miaka credited Mitsukake's healing talent. Nakago credited the presence of her seishi to the miko's transformation.

The demons had not attacked that night. The people of Souen had been alerted to their danger and already, a flurry of activity was mobilizing the surrounding town. Some would depart, or fight their way free, knapsacks slung over their shoulders as they wielded pitchforks and knives and whatever tools they had hand. Some would not leave, thinking the danger too small; some could not move, and would stay and be killed. The thought of this made Miaka's chest ache with horror.

Shouka, staying across town, had returned sometime that morning and then left again to meet, along with Mitsukake, with the lord in the castle on the hill. This lord, her brother, was trained in basic military strategy; he would lead the townspeople to safety and fight free. Mitsukake would stay with the villagers for the duration of the battle, for the villagers would need a strong healer.

That left Miaka, Chichiri, Tasuki, Soi, and Nakago to escape via Chichiri's secret path out of Souen. Their party of five would be aided by Tasuki's bandits to scale the cliff-face on the opposite shore – the cliff whose climb Miaka had dismissed as impossible the day before. They would be prepared to fight – for demons could be lurking in the rocks above the cliffs. After the battle, Soi and Tasuki's bandits would meet up with Mitsukake, joining the rest of the villagers on the slower road to Eiyou, while the other four continued on to Eiyou quickly.

Miaka felt a surge of guilt about leaving the villagers to fend for themselves, but she feared to voice it, knowing she would be outnumbered. "The _best_ place you can be right now is away from here and stopping these demons at the source," said Mitsukake.

She hated to admit he was right.

Miaka was worried, for Soi more than anyone. Soi and Kaen's changes were more frequent now; Kaen had appeared late last night, and yet Soi was back that morning, strapping on armor and frowning in a tired way that spoke sleeplessness and worry. Miaka knew that their party was dangerous, knew Soi would fight to protect her if someone attacked on the journey. She felt a vague worry for the other woman that prompted her to wonder if Soi might be safer escaping the valley with the group of villagers. But Soi _wanted_ to see Miaka out of the valley, and she found the miko's concern less than necessary, laughable in fact.

"Kaen would not _dare_ emerge on the battlefield," Soi told her. "You ought to be resting and regaining your powers, miko, and not worrying about the abilities of others."

But Miaka wondered. She wondered if there was another reason Soi wished to accompany her on this journey, a reason that did not involve Miaka at all, but the blond shogun who was tending to one thing or another in the town.

Mitsukake, on returning from his conference with the village lord, told Miaka that all of the herbs in her garden must be harvested. He was frustrated, weary, and tired. Miaka left quickly, letting herself out the back door and into the garden, garden knife in hand. She heard a low voice and realized that Nakago had returned from whatever he was doing off in town. The tenor of the female rejoinder piqued her curiosity, and Miaka slowed but did not stop. They could not see her, and for the moment, at least, she would keep it that way.

"… spent the last five months wandering, trying to figure out _who_ I am," Kaen was saying. "Two souls in one body is killing both of us. I talked to Soi for a long time this afternoon. In the end, we decided that after this battle, I want to be Kaen."

"You will never truly be Kaen again."

Miaka recognized Nakago's voice at its most impassive. She imagined he was wearing his blankest mask as he addressed Kaen.

"Of course not," Kaen snapped. "But I'm not Soi either. Soi is brave, powerful, so much stronger than Kaen is," she said. "But in some ways she's weak. She felt disgusting, loathed who she was, felt that she could never transform herself from the role of a lowly prostitute into something better. In the old Shijintenchisho there were some days, I think, when her only wish was to be like me."

"Soi clung to you because you saved her as a child," said Kaen. "She loved you, sacrificed her life for yours, followed you blindly, was always wounded but kept going. So for her sake I hope you find peace. But I won't _be_ Soi, not ever again – I just want to forget."

"You will never forget," said Nakago.

"And you will never find peace!" Kaen retorted. "I have seen some of the things that you have done, and Soi forgives you because she loves you, but _you_ – the atrocities you've committed will _never_ be swept away, even if you do succeed in restoring the balance between the gods and the Underworld, they will continue to torment you from the inside for as long as you live. And you _welcome_ it."

The last words were spoken with immeasurable disgust.

Miaka peered around the side of the house. Nakago stood immobile, stony-eyed and silent. Miaka could tell that his mask was back in place with a vengeance.

Kaen seemed to slump. "If ever you felt a scrap of respect for Soi, then after the battle tomorrow, you will continue on to Eiyou, and allow me to remain with the people of Souen, to help rebuild when the town is reclaimed and the fighting is over. That is all I want. Please do this."

As Nakago inclined his head, Miaka turned from the scene, shuddering.

She remembered the expression on Nakago's face as he died, almost peaceful, at least calmly relieved. She wondered if what Kaen had said was true. She wondered if Nakago's desire for immortality had been for the sake of self-punishment, as if the simple act of continuing his life was the worst imaginable retribution.

But for which sin?

-v-

**A/N:** A super-fast update this time. Hooray for weekends!

Notes: I used a bit of artistic license regarding the story of Shouka, but it's really not _too_ far-fetched. We know from the novels that Shouka grew up in a fairly tyrannical household, as the daughter of the lord of the house. I took it one step further for the purposes of this story. Multiple personality disorder is very rare, but it occurs in response to intense childhood abuse/trauma/etc. If you ever want to read up on it, it's a very interesting disorder (but I would think so, being a neuroscience major!)

Thanks to _midnightblue08, Jean Marie Darkholme, flaire88, _and _Desert Renaissance_ for your reviews for the last chapter. I'm, quite frankly, impressed with you for keeping up with all of these rapid updates and I really appreciate all your feedback.

-v-

**Q/A: **Really short this time, because of the fast update. Hmm… maybe I should start doing double updates or something…

**Would Nakago have killed Tasuki if Miaka hadn't intervened?**

Probably not, just brought him to the verge of death…

**Is Hotohori still in love with Miaka? Or not?**

The part of Hotohori that remembers Miaka may still love her, just a little, but he also loves his wife. But if what you're really asking is 'will this story contain some sort of Miaka/Nakago/other love triangle?', then the answer will probably be yes. (I haven't written that part though, so I can't say with 100% certainty how it'll turn out!) Any guesses who I have in mind?

**And I wonder...if Miaka awakened Seiryuu through channeling him using the scepter of Kutou, will the same way work with the other three Gods with their respective scepters? Cause you said that Seiryuu seal cracked when she channeled him so could it be possible for other Gods or not?**

Byakko and Genbu were actually never sealed – only Suzaku and Seiryuu. But in order to banish Tenkou and restore the balance to the UOTFG, all of the gods must be summoned. It'll take more effort to crack Suzaku's seal than Seiryuu's, because he was hurt badly by his own miko betraying him.

**There was just something about Tasuki saying sorry for killing Soi and then Soi having a drink with him which just gave the scene a surreal feeling…**

Haha that's exactly the feeling I had when I was writing it. I love putting two pseudo-enemies in a room together and seeing what'll happen, particularly enemies with as much history behind them as the Suzaku/Seiryuu seishi.


	21. Don't go too far

**XXI**

**Don't go too far**

The cliffs on the opposite shore of the Shoryuu-Gawa were daunting, rising sheer and uneven above the water like giants from a prehistoric era. Years of wind and rain and storm, of river erosion at their base, had rendered them smooth and merciless and thoroughly intractable. What few trees and bushes eked a living on the rocks were sickly and bent at odd angles by the wind that whipped past them. It was an impossible climb. Miaka tried not to despair.

She glanced above her, searching out ways to make light of the situation. High above her head, about halfway up the cliff face, there loomed a large overhang of rock, lighter and more weathered than the rest. Wind, storm, and rockslide had eroded away the support beneath it, and at some time in the not-too-distant future, it was sure to fall. But Miaka did not think now of its chances of falling, or of the danger she or the others might be in if it chose to fall now. she was more amused by its form, which was strange, distinctive even. She squinted against the noon light.

"It looks," she said decisively, dropping her pack to the ground and shading her eyes against the glare, "like a nose. A giant nose sticking out of the cliff face. Don't you think so, Tasuki?"

It was not Tasuki who replied, but Nakago, who tossed words over his shoulder as he swept past her and up the track:

"We do not have time for this, miko."

She glared at his retreating back, lifting her pack to her shoulders again. "As a matter of fact," she said stiffly. "I wasn't speaking to you."

But she stiffened her shoulders and followed him and Soi up the trail, Tasuki and Chichiri at her back.

The path Nakago spoke of was not really a path. It would more aptly have been termed a trail, one of dubious quality. Parts of it required walking in the usual fashion, but there were other parts, these far more dangerous, that involved pulling oneself over rocks, onto ledges, and into rocky crevices. Had it been wet, the journey would have been impossible, for they would have slid to their deaths. As it was, Miaka's heart leapt in her chest more than a few times, and there was one desperate moment when, if not for Chichiri's quick action, Tasuki might have lost his grip. Miaka, for her part, clung to the rocks like a limpet. They traveled slower for it, but she was perhaps safer. Miaka had never been rock-climbing in her world, and only briefly in the Shijintenchisho. She was in better shape than she had ever been back home, but she was still recovering from her exhaustion of two days ago. Worse, the scepter of Kutou was large, and carrying it up the cliff face posed its own set of challenges. When carrying it became too much, she handed it off to Nakago. She noticed, not without some envy, that he did not even seem short of breath.

She was short of breath often, which necessitated their stops. It was fortunate, perhaps, that she forced them to travel slowly, for the rocks were treacherous. Miaka could envision broken bones or worse as the price of a misstep. Mitsukake was not with them. He was with the villagers. He was with the villagers, acting as their diversion, battling the demons on the eastern side of the valley. Miaka hoped that he was all right.

As they rose higher, the wind became stronger, whipping around them so strong it almost stung. Miaka understood, now, why the trees were bent at such angles. It was not even a particularly breezy day, and she shuddered to think what the climb _could_ have been.

They had started early, so they were halfway up the cliff face by noon. The five travelers took a longer stop for their midday meal, sitting on a narrow flat span of rock in the shadow of bushes. They spoke in low voices as they took their meal; a demon threat was unlikely, but not impossible.

Miaka could not help but edge forward, closer to the brink. With one hand cupped to shield her eyes from the light, she looked out across the lake and river and valley of Souen. It was her desire to search out Mitsukake that drove her, but she could not deny it was a beautiful view. They were high up already. She looked toward Souen and felt her heart sink. Columns of smoke was rising, thick and imposing, from the town. She hoped Mitsukake and the villagers had made it to safety in time.

She was about to turn back to the others when something else caught her eye at the eastern end of the lake, where the dam was: a flurry of activity by the water below that made her pause and squint to see better.

"I thought Mitsukake and all the villagers were leaving," she said. "I thought they were heading out on the western side."

Nakago glanced at the site she was watching. The figures were too slight to see clearly, like insects or mites in the valley beneath them, but even from this distance he could sense their dark chi.

"Those are not villagers," he said.

Breeze whipped Miaka's hair into her face, obstructing her vision. She pushed it away and waited as the sharp breeze lessened, one hand clasping the rock. She lay on her elbows and stomach, only her chin poised over the edge, so that she would not be seen.

"Demons, then?" she said. "What are they doing?"

Nakago's eyes swept over the furtive figures that marched back and forth across the dam, moving as though they carried thick loads on their shoulders. If the demons had captured the eastern shore and were dismantling the dam, it could only imply that they meant to flood the villages below. Such a move would make those villages vulnerable, easy targets for conquest.

It had no bearing on their current objective, and Nakago had no intention of wasting time. "It is of no consequence," he said, laying a firm hand on the arm of the Suzaku no Miko.

She did not trust his tone; she was starting to recognize the times he was lying to her. Of no consequence to him, perhaps, but Nakago had different standards for what was important than normal people, and the demons were moving in such a steady, purposeful way that it set her teeth on edge.

"Chichiri," said Miaka, ignoring Nakago's tight grip, "Tasuki, look at this. I think they're taking down the dam."

Chichiri moved forward to study the scene in the valley. Miaka could see none of his face, for his mask obscured it. It frustrated her.

She was startled by how quickly he moved away from the edge. His movements were fluid, but his eyes were quite blank; they gave lie to his feelings better than anything. Miaka's mouth opened.

Chichiri said:

"Let us go, Miaka."

She glanced at Tasuki, whose eyes were still on the figures below, and at Soi, whose face showed impatience.

"If the dam collapses," she said slowly, "then it's like Chichiri said last night… all the villages below us will flood suddenly, and that'll be worse than invasion, the villagers will die…"

She glanced at the others to find Tasuki and Chichiri now studiously looking anywhere but at her. Soi's expression was impatient, though her eyes looked quite tired. What was wrong with them all, she thought heatedly. How could they not have seen?

"We need to do something," she said. "All the villages will be flooded –"

"It does not concern us, Miko," Soi said, taking Miaka's wrist with a fluid movement and pulling her away from the edge. Her grip was strong, and Miaka stumbled. Soi pushed her upright and glared at her. "Our priority," she said grimly, "is to make sure you reach Eiyou intact. Even if you could descend easily, you would not arrive in time."

"How can you be so –"

"So what?"

Soi's nails dug into her forearm; had her nails been any longer, they would have drawn blood. Miaka opened her mouth. She did not know what would emerge from it – insult, plea, or cry of indignation.

But beneath Soi's sharp coldness, there was a note of deep tiredness; purple filled the spaces beneath Soi's eyes, and her forehead, where the skin was once perfect, had some lines now, lines of worry perhaps - or of pain. Miaka felt suddenly sorry. She found she could no longer meet Soi's eyes.

So she stared past Soi, toward the cliff face behind her, far up into the heights that were bathed with sunlight. The rock outcropping she had noticed before danced mockingly before her eyes. _Like a nose,_ she had said back then, trying to be funny. Miaka glared at it now, the huge rock mass that seemed to mock any attempts at humor now. Most likely it would come detached now, fall on them all, ending her misery in a swift blow; she might welcome it. All five of them would be crushed, pureed into human mincemeat as the rock tumbled on, down the cliff face and onto the dam below them.

Onto the dam.

Miaka's eyes, narrowed in fury, went suddenly wide.

If the cliff fell onto the dam, it would not only crush the demons seeking to shatter the dam, it would also succeed in blocking the river more efficiently than the Souen villager's man-made dam could ever do.

"We don't need to go back," Miaka said. Excitement filled her voice, causing it to rise and dip in a way that was almost ridiculous. She did not care. "Look," she said, gesturing toward the outcropping, "_Look at it!_"

"Keep your voice down!" said Soi, covering her mouth with one hand, but Miaka struggled free.

"Don't you see?" she said, in tones quieter than earlier.

The others might not have comprehended, but Nakago did. _Clever, Suzaku no miko,_ he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. The overhang she indicated was poised in prime position, directly above the demons who crowded the dam. It was the same shale-slate outcropping Miaka had pointed out at the start of their climb; though it loomed above them now, they would soon be on level with it. A burst of energy delivered to the right location and it would surely fall, to the deaths of all below.

"I don't get it," said Tasuki.

Perhaps he could be excused for his ignorance because had not seen Miaka practice chi, but Nakago was not the type to let this thing slide. "What she intends, bandit," he said, drawing out the words so that they sounded like an insult, "is to use her power to induce a rockslide that will eliminate the enemy in the act of dismantling the bridge."

"Are you fucking _insane_?"

If not for the threat of imminent attack, then Tasuki would surely have been shouting. He stared at Miaka, then back at the cliff, an expression of utmost horror on his features.

"Didn't you collapse from this sort of thing two days ago?" he hissed. "Weren't you asleep an entire day because you used yer damn powers an' nearly killed yourself in the process? You might've died, an' then where'd we be? Waiting for another priestess to come an' summon the four gods t'fight Tenkou?"

Miaka said nothing for a moment. She had never hoped anything quite as strongly as she hoped – in that instant – that Tasuki never found out who she had been trying to heal when she had passed out two nights earlier. Tasuki's orange hair was blowing in the breeze, giving him an even wilder appearance than usual. Miaka took a step backward. "My powers are back," she said carefully. "Mitsukake saw to that."

"He didn' intend fer you to go blowin' up cliff faces straight after recoverin', an' you know it!"

She could not argue with this logic, much as she wished to. She stared around the seishi, looked from one to the other and saw only impatience, worry, or a void of emotion.

"Very well," she said quietly, "Let's go."

She turned from the cliff and began struggling up the path again, hair falling forward to hide her eyes.

But her bangs hid not tears, but a spark of excitement that could not be quenched, not even by Tasuki's skepticism or the others' refusal. Miaka was not self-righteous, but there were times she was certain she was doing the right thing. These times had been few and far between lately, and yet now—

It took another hour's climb to bring them out from beneath the shadow of the outcropping. The clifftops were close now – the end of their climb. They should have been relieved, but the clifftops were where the real danger began, for if demons were nearby, they would be patrolling the tops of the cliffs, not the more dangerous rocks toward the bottom.

The wind was intensifying, sending a chill through Miaka's arms. Thus far, they had met no resistance, no danger thus far save the danger the rocks provided, and yet the wariness of the others was having its own effect on her, making her on edge and anxious. If she was to go through with her plan, she thought, it had to be now, before they reached the top. They were in less danger here.

And so she told them when they reached the next flat ledge that she needed to rest, and then she excused herself, making for the nearest clump of bushes.

Safely concealed behind the wall of leaves, she watched the others, not breathing. They talked in low voices, not looking toward her, or else stared over the cliff edge toward the burnt town of Souen. She crept back carefully, until she was behind a rock outcropping and the others were not in sight. Then she continued over and outward, until the outcropping was looming in front of her.

It was a massive clump of rocks and boulders, jutting outright from the cliff wall. Bits and pieces of it had eroded away from beneath, leaving only this portion, which was soon to fall. This close, it did not remind her of a nose at all. She did not know what it reminded her of. Something dangerous, she thought, that spelled certain death for the people beneath it.

She stared at it, awed now, for from below it had not seemed quite so big, and for a moment she felt doubt seize her at the seeming impossibility of the task. She had made trees explode, small bushes, not boulders; was this even possible? The rocks were not stable, but they had still held for years, through storm and wind and lightening. What could one miko do against them?

Without warning, she felt a hand drop to her shoulder.

She reacted instinctively, leaping away from the contact, heart racing, forgetting, for a moment, her tenuous position. The wind had started up again, whipping her face, catching her dress like a sail, and she almost overbalanced. Her heart leapt giddily with vertigo, spiraling up to a spot somewhere in her throat – the drop was long, _long_ and steep, and if she fell, for all there was water beneath her, she would _surely _perish.

Nakago's fast reflexes caught her. A sharp yank to the wrist, and Miaka was on safe ground again, feet firmly planted, eyes wide and frightened. He released his grip on her, though she was still trembling; she rested a palm against the cliff face to steady herself. Nakago regarded her coolly, not speaking.

She regarded him for a moment, heart still pounding with fright, fingers trembling. "Don't ever do that again!" she gasped.

"Save you?" he said, lip curling.

"Sneak up on me like a demon!" She brushed her hair out of her eyes - a fruitless gesture, for the wind only forced it back into them again. "What are you doing here?" she said. "Why did you follow me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Your excuse was a pathetic one, Suzaku no Miko."

She bristled at the insult, painfully aware of how close she was to the long drop below. "And if I really had been relieving myself? What then?"

"Your lie was as plain as the eyes on your face, Miko. I suppose you might have succeeded in hoodwinking the bandit, but you fooled no one else."

Miaka folded her arms, more to guard against the chill than out of the desire to oppose him, though he didn't need to know that. The sunlight was strong but ineffectual. The air was too cool for it to warm her skin.

"Tasuki's got a name, you know," she said. "So do I," she added as an afterthought. Her eyes traced his face cautiously as she said, "So what now? You know what I'm planning. Are you going to try to stop me?"

To her surprise, he leaned back against the cliff face, hands at his sides. "By all means, dear Suzaku no Miko, shatter the cliff face," he said calmly. "Who am I to oppose to such a venture?"

She turned her face back to the impossible conglomeration of slate and rock mass and dirt, felt her face paling despite her best efforts to stop it. It had seemed so much _easier_ when she was below it, so much easier when it looked so small from a distance. Now she was near it, and it was a cliff face, the size of a palace. The biggest thing she had ever exploded was a medium-sized oak tree, and that had been under conditions of intense provocation.

"How?" she whispered.

Nakago opened his eyes and regarded her mockingly. "I have no idea," he said. "Was it not you who came up with this plan?"

She did not look at him, continued to stare at the rock, felt her mind go slowly blank as panic overtook it.

"Nakago," she said after a moment, back toward him. Her words held a certain amount of misery, though her voice was still strong. "Is this task even possible?"

Silence settled over them and Miaka's shoulders sagged a little. Her eyes were closed now, the closest she had come in weeks to admitting pure defeat. It was stupid, she thought, such a stupid thing to think she could possibly accomplish such a task. Nakago would tell her so. She readied herself for the rebuke, the cutting words that would slash her heart worse than metal. Her nails gouged crescents into her palm.

Nakago watched the miko swallow, saw her shoulders slump in a semblance of despair. One word, he thought, would surely crush her.

The rocks clung to the cliff face in a delicate balance; power in the appropriate location would surely set them loose. Such a task would have been trifling for him. The miko had the _chi_ to complete such a feat five times over; what stymied her was a deficit in confidence, incentive, belief. In her current state, she would never succeed.

Was it curiosity, interest in seeing the full extent of her capabilities, that caused him to utter his next words? Was it a backhanded apology for his dark words to her in the clearing, acknowledgement that she was deserving of some kind of respect? Was it a darker motive, his alignment with Tenkou, that caused him to say what came next?

Miaka would never know. Nor, perhaps, would Nakago. His next utterance was as much of a surprise to him as to her, and once said, it could not be undone.

"It is trivial for one of your powers."

Miaka whirled and stared at him, eyes wide with astonishment. His face held its customary impassiveness, a total lack of emotion. She searched his eyes; they were the color as the sky behind him – shocking, luminous blue.

Miaka doubted she would ever comprehend the workings of Nakago's mind, and yet she felt reassured, as nothing he had said had ever reassured her before. His words had held no trace of mocking, no hidden barb to stab her and wound her, and this itself was so impossible that she regarded him with open mouth, until his hand beneath her chin forced it shut.

"Thank you," she whispered. She felt odd, as if a dense burden was being slowly lifted from her shoulders.

Then she smiled at him. It was a brilliant smile, heartfelt, the smile that she normally reserved for trusted friends and innkeepers she asked help from. It was the first time Nakago had been on the receiving end of Miaka's gladness. He regarded her unmoving, pondering that her mood could change so rapidly, range from gloomy one moment to glowing the next.

She regarded the rock that was her task again, feeling her senses calming. The rock was enormous, but she felt lighter, calmer, strange. It was like having power at your fingertips and the sudden understanding of how to use it. It was like holding the world.

"Nakago," she said, "You need to insult me."

Suddenly the wind did not feel quite so cold. She turned toward him, spreading her arms wide in invitation.

"Go on," she laughed, "do your worst! I'm sure you've stored up plenty of horrible things to say about me in the two days we haven't been practicing."

He leaned back, arms folded, regarding her coolly from three feet away. "The death of the villagers in the lower valley is not sufficient motivation for you, miko?" he said. "I was under the impression that your altruistic tendencies were the driving force behind your actions… but it seems you are only doing this to prove that you are some semblance of capable. What_ would_ your seishi think if I told them?"

Miaka closed her eyes and glared at the cliff face; red shimmered against her palm, but it was not vibrant enough, and she knew this. "Not good enough," she said, watching the light flicker and dance across her hand. "Worse," she said. "Something horrible. Something about - Tamahome. About how I – how I killed him."

"Anyone with half a mind can see that you did not murder the money-mad fool," Nakago said coolly. "But you believe that you did, which is almost as amusing. I do wonder at the precise circumstances that surrounded his death. Did you find yourself in a bad situation and watch him act the hero? Lose something to demons and make him go fetch it?"

Her hand trembled; her back was against the cliff wall now. The elation she had felt, mere moments before, felt suddenly blunted; darkness seemed to be eating away at her vision.

"No," said Miaka, paling, "I've changed my mind. Let's not talk about Tamahome."

"But you brought him up, dear Suzaku no Miko," said Nakago, the voice of cool reason.

"But I don't want to talk about him," she said harshly.

He approached her, caught her wrist before she could stumble backward and into danger. The movement brought her against him. "Are you so cowardly," he murmured in her ear, "that you would flee from any mention of the past? A poor way to acknowledge the memory of one you supposedly _loved_. I wonder what your Tamahome would say if he could see you now."

Both of her hands were on his chest as she tried to shove him away from her. "I killed him, all right?" she said, trembling. "I killed him, it's my fault he's dead, and I'm guilty."

She turned her face toward him, disgust in her eyes – whether for herself or Nakago, neither of them knew. Her hands were fisted before her, her eyes dark and flashing. "So why does it matter, Nakago?" she said coldly, the wind catching her voice and whipping it toward him. "Why do you need to know any more than that?"

Nakago remembered the odd spark of determination that had ignited her face on the night that she'd fainted, and he smiled, smiled a smile that showed his teeth. "And if you had been able to heal him," he said coolly. "If you had you been able to use your powers properly, would his outcome have been different?"

The miko snarled, a sound of pure fury. Red light blazed to life in her palm as she faced him, blind hate blazing in her eyes. And Nakago continued to smile at death, not quite kindly.

"Spend your hatred on a different target, miko."

He pushed her away.

A strong ball of chi shot out from her hands, brilliant, crimson. Slivers of rock detached from the outcropping, what would have been a killing blow for a human. The rock ledge shuddered, and there was a breathless moment where possibility remained: it could be falling, and gravity had not yet made the fall visible yet – at any moment, they would see a gentle toppling, a rumble, growing faster and faster and louder and louder as the cliff face collapsed, as the rocks and debris accelerated out of control.

But the seconds passed, and there was no movement from the rock ledge, no roar of shale or rush of movement.

It had not fallen.

Nakago saw the rage drain from the face of the Suzaku no Miko, watched her bite her lip in consternation. He placed a hand on her shoulder, which was no longer bathed in red light.

"Come, miko," he said. "Let us return to camp."

But she shook his hand off her shoulder. When she whirled to face him, her eyes were still bright and furious, and there was a red haze around her that could only be power.

"That's _it?"_ she said. "No!" Her head shook, back and forth, desperate. "No, no, no, I won't give up, I want another chance, dammit!"

Coldly he reached for her. "Miko –"

Red fire stung him, just a little, and he drew a hand back, eyes narrowing.

"One more time," she said. "Please."

"By now your display will have attracted the attention of Tenkou's forces," said Nakago, and he grasped her arm again, regardless of the slight sting to his hand.

Footsteps were behind them; Nakago whirled, sword raised. His grip relaxed as his eyes met Soi's face.

But Soi was anything but relaxed; she, too, carried a naked blade, and her eyes were wilder than normal. "Demons," she panted. "They're all over. We need to find cover."

Nakago's eyes darted to the cliff face, trailing smoothly and slowly over the indentations in the rock. Miaka used the distraction to twist free of Nakago's grip on her arm and turn back to the cliff that loomed before them. He heard her gasp as an arrow narrowly missed her foot, saw her near to falling for the second time that day. He grasped the back of her dress and yanked, throwing her in the opposite direction, toward the camp.

"Shield yourself, miko."

"My lord!" The voice was Soi's, urgent and sharp and eerily familiar; the sound sent a chill through Nakago's veins like the wind from a storm. "Look out!"

-v-

There is instinct, vibrant and powerful, the mindless response that's ingrained in one's nerves, and you act without thought, without fear, without flinching. There is the gift of life, or of death, out of love for another. That is sacrifice.

Soi knew all of this better than anyone. Soi had lived it, and died of it too.

And it had taught her nothing.

For the demon arrow was aimed toward Nakago's heart now, and she did not recognize instinct when she felt it tug at her, did not know what she was going to do until she was airborne. Her mind felt detached, cut off from her body. She knew someone had shouted, and it had been her.

She felt vertigo overtake her before the impact; she crashed into Nakago from the side, sending them both to the ground, herself on top. Pain exploded across her shoulder as the arrow burrowed deep into her flesh.

And all Soi could think, amidst the pain and the shock and confusion from Kaen was, _Thank Seiryuu I made it in time._

She felt her body rising, felt herself lifted and held in a careful grip, felt her eyes open, saw only blue.

"I suppose," said Soi, her voice tenuous, barely more than a murmur, as she stared up at the wide eyes of the man she'd saved twice now, "history does… repeat itself."

"Soi."

Nakago watched Soi's mouth grimace, watched her eyes widen and lose focus as blood continued to drip in crimson rivulets down her shoulder and onto the rocks beneath his feet.

-v-

**A/N:** Oh no! It's a cliffhanger! I'm such a horrible person!

Had to rewrite this chapter. (The stuff that was here before I rewrote it was awful and made no sense, so I had to scrap it). Anyway, I hope it makes sense. I quite like it, but of course, I just rewrote it, and I usually like the things I've just written. It takes about a day for me to realize what a piece of crap stuff is…

Also, I probably should have said this last chapter, but I didn't just make up the thing about Nakago flooding the Shoryuu-Gawa before Miaka's arrival to the UotFG. It was in one of the novels (Chichiri's I'm pretty sure).

In other news, I changed the prologue in Chapter 1 (because I hated it). It contains no more information than the former prologue (so don't feel obliged to look), but it's a bit more fleshed out now. Just thought I'd give warning in case, I dunno, someone went back to Chapter 1 and was like 'what the hell is this thing?'

I want to thank _AGrandMalfunction_, _Jean Marie Darkholme, Desert Renaissance, _and _megumisakura _for your reviews between now and yesterday! I do realize this spate of posting has been somewhat ridiculous… thanks for bearing with me! There are three more chapters to go in Part II, two really short ones and a longish one. All three need a bit of tidying up, but I'll probably be posting them sometime this week. Let's see if I can keep up this chapter-a-day thing!

-v-

**Q/A:**

**Will Nakago ever apologize for what he did to Miaka in the tent at Hokkan?**

That will eventually be confronted, yes.

**Does Suzaku feel bitter towards Miaka for sealing him? I feel bad for him now D:**

Maybe not 'bitter' precisely, but Miaka wounded him deeply, both power-wise and mentally (if a god can be wounded mentally). Because of what she did, he's very, very weak.

**I am so rooting for Miaka and Nakago to be together!**

Oh, good. So am I!

**Kaen seems a bit suspicious to me… is she someone who needs to be watched?**

Possibly?

-v-

**Questions for you (because I like making you think, mwa ha ha): **

1) How do you think Tamahome died?

2) Did the whole blowing-up-the-cliff-face scene, and the reasoning behind all that, make sense?

3) Would you, at this point, be more surprised if I killed Soi or left her alive? (Not that it's going to change the plot at all; I'm actually just curious.)


	22. Limitation scars

**From the previous chapter: **

_Soi felt her body rising, felt herself lifted and held in a careful grip, felt her eyes open, saw only blue._

_"I suppose," said Soi, her voice tenuous, barely more than a murmur, as she stared up at the wide eyes of the man she'd saved twice now, "history does… repeat itself."_

_"Soi." _

_Nakago watched Soi's mouth grimace, watched her eyes widen and lose focus as blood continued to drip in crimson rivulets down her shoulder and onto the rocks beneath his feet. _

**XXII**

**Limitation Scars**

Miaka heard Soi shout, saw the woman's body arc through the air, saw the arrow meant for Nakago embed itself into Soi's shoulder.

_"SOI!" _

The shout, Miaka realized, was her own.

She felt her whole body go still. Cruel crimson was in her vision. It played around her hands like fire about a burning branch, but there was no pain, only fury – fury like the fury of Seiryuu. It suffused her, blazed through her veins like white lightening. Her chi sparked with blistering intensity.

Even as she saw Tasuki sprint into her field of view, throw a knife-blade in the direction of their attacker, and duck, Miaka was already moving, walking with quick steps toward the rock face she had already tried and failed to conquer. Everything was different now. The air around her crackled with purpose, and something was guiding her feet, moving her forward at a quick, forceful pace. She had the strangest feeling that this was Seiryuu's way of telling her, _You shall not let my seishi suffer in vain. _

She felt something rise within her, a bright power, as though she herself were limitless. At any other time she might have laughed with heady pleasure, but not now - now was not right. She raised her hands before her, and they filled with red light.

_So this is how it works,_ she thought.

An explosion, ear-shattering, rattling the very foundation on which they stood. A deep rumble, crackling, intensifying, vibrating up through their feet.

And slowly, the cliff face began to peel away.

Miaka watched the rock fall. She watched it gain speed, as it should have the first time, clouds of dust rising in the wake of the landslide. She watched the rock reach the valley, collapse the dam below, smother the demons in a haze of rock and dust and dirt.

She had done it; it was finished.

Like an idiot, she remained watching, still trembling with the thrill of success, when Chichiri cut her triumph short by knocking into her, rolling them both sideways. An arrow struck the ground where she had been. Miaka sat up, realizing her shirt was wet and reddish, but that the wet and red stuff had not come from her but oozed from Chichiri's leg, which was bleeding.

"Chichiri!" she said, paling.

"Not a deep wound, no da. Come this way; we must reach shelter."

She knew he was right. They were so exposed here: the cliff wall to their backs, a vast drop in front, to their right and left rocky terrain from which more demons would surely spring. Miaka ducked her face, pressed her cheek to the wall again as more arrows flew overhead. She would have followed Chichiri, but she glanced behind her and stopped. "Soi!" she said.

"No!" said Chichiri, and he reached for her arm. But Miaka was already sprinting the distance to the Seiryuu seishi. She had to duck, as an arrow whizzed by her ear and out, into the nothingness below them. Still thrumming with the power that had coursed through her veins mere minutes before, Miaka summoned up chi and sent it over her shoulder. She hoped it would hit her target.

In the shelter of the cliff wall, Nakago was supporting Soi's head with his arm. Tasuki was on his feet beside them, expression wild, wearing a devilish smile as he fought three demons simultaneously. His fangs were showing. Somehow, Miaka's brain found the time to marvel that Tasuki's fangs had survived the transition from the Shijintenchisho to this world.

"Can't take yer own medicine?" he said, slashing a demon across the face. Miaka did not think he even noticed her presence. Some part of her was distantly relieved by this.

The expression on Nakago's face quenched this feeling, quenched whatever happy feeling Miaka had ever If Nakago's usual impassivity brought to mind frozen lakes and glacial plains, his face now was marble, as opaque and blank as Miaka had seen him. Miaka trembled. She looked from Soi's limp form to Nakago's face and shuddered.

"She's not…?"

He might not have heard her for all the response he gave.

Miaka knelt down on the ground, bending her head over Soi. The arrow was six inches to the left of Soi's heart. Miaka thought it had missed any vital organs, but Soi was losing blood rapidly. Miaka ripped off the edge of her skirt and pressed it into the wound.

"We need Mitsukake!" she said, over the clash of Tasuki's blade.

Nakago did turn, did not even glance in her direction. "He is with the villagers," he said coldly.

Soi was trying to speak; Miaka bent closer to hear her. "This is wrong," she muttered, and Miaka did not know whether it was Kaen or Soi speaking. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Nakago's eyes, emotionless, flicked towards Miaka for a second. "Find cover, Miko," he said.

"No!" she said sharply.

Arrows clattered around them, and Miaka's lip trembled. They could not stay here, but how could they possibly run with Soi injured? Where could they go? She would not panic – could not panic – even as all their plans seemed to be collapsing around them. It would be so tempting to give into terror, to huddle here in the shelter of the cliff face, immobile, until demons finished them. All rational thoughts were fleeing, overtaken by thoughts of pain and death and panic. She had no idea what to do.

"This way, no da!"

Chichiri's voice was a shout, jerking Miaka out of her daze of horror and fear. He was higher up and beckoning them, gesturing toward a large crevice with the arm that he wasn't using shield himself from the onslaught of arrows raining down on them above. Where he was leading them, Miaka had no idea; anywhere was better than here.

Miaka stood. Three steps and she realized she was alone – Nakago had not followed her.

"Nakago?" she said.

She did not see any physical wounds on him, so why, dammit, why was he not shifting position – why was he not following them? Soi's blood was dripping between the fingers of Nakago's hand, which still supported her head.

"We have to get out of here!" Miaka shouted.

Perhaps three minutes total had passed since the arrow had struck Soi's flesh - three of the longest minutes of Miaka's life, but not long. And yet it struck Miaka suddenly that, in that entire time, she had not seen Nakago move an inch. It was as though his body, and not just his face, had turned to marble.

"Nakago?" Miaka said, and then she did something she had never thought she would do. She seized the part of his shirt not obstructed by Soi's body, the only place she could find where his armor was exposed, and she shook it, shook it so hard that her nails raked his chest below the cloth. She felt the wetness of his blood through the fabric where her fingers had scratched Nakago's skin but didn't pause, continued to try to push him and tug him to standing. "_She's not dead yet_," she said, in a voice that was almost a shout. "You have a chance to reverse what happened in the Shijintenchisho! Are you going to pass that up because you can't forget?"

Her words roused Nakago, and his eyes met hers with a suddenness that startled her. All she saw for a moment was blue, sky, and immeasurable distance: a lake beside which two figures stood –

He grabbed her wrist and threw her to the ground, and the image was broken. A second later, a sword clanged against the rock on which she had been standing.

_"Shield, _Miko!"

Gasping, Miaka threw up a barrier to cover the three of them. It shuddered when the first arrow struck it, but it held, and _how had she not thought of this before now? _ She could feel her energy reserves, so recently recovered, ebbing quickly from her recent exertion. And she would need some of her _chi_ to save Soi…

It was terrible being the only one with power and the ability to use it. Miaka wondered if her seishi had ever felt this way in the Shijintenchisho. The enormous burden of responsibility seemed to bear down on her shoulders like lead armor.

Her barrier held, as they followed Chichiri. It was not far, but it felt like miles. Miaka felt a rush of relief when she saw where he was leading them.

The crevice Chichiri had pointed out was actually a deep cave, buried into the side of the mountain. They retreated within it with barely a thought; Miaka, almost spent, dropped her barrier, exhausted. Carefully, Nakago set Soi down toward the back of the cave. She was blood-soaked, pale, but mercifully unconscious. Miaka's heart constricted.

"She _won't_ die again," she whispered, not sure whether she spoke for her benefit or for Nakago's. "I promise."

Nakago's eyes swept across her, so cold she almost flinched, but his gaze didn't stay fixed on her long. From the front of the cave there came noises, the clang of sword on staff or steel-on-steel. The intruders were trying to get in. Miaka could not maintain a barrier and try to heal at the same time. Nakago joined Tasuki and Chichiri at the front of the cave and Miaka, with powers barely remaining, leaned forward.

It was grim work. The arrowhead was buried deep and would need to be cut out. Miaka set to work while Soi was still unconscious from pain, spreading the tissue open to remove the arrow cleanly.

Blood was still spreading from the wound at an alarming rate when she had finished, and her hands were stained crimson with it. She had no idea how to use her power to heal a wound of this magnitude. She tore strips of her dress to soak up the blood, and when those went red tore new strips. Gradually these strips grew wet not just with blood, but with Miaka's tears, even though Soi didn't like her, and, when it came down to it, Miaka barely knew Soi.

"You saved all of us," Miaka whispered. "You didn't just save Nakago; you saved me, all the villagers in the valleys below us. I could never have done that without you. Stop bleeding. Please."

Bloody bandage replaced bloody bandage. Over and over the scene repeated itself in a crimson refrain as Miaka repeated in her head her empty promise to Nakago: _this time, Soi will live._ Yet Miaka didn't know how to help anymore than she had already done. She didn't know how to heal – that was Mitsukake's domain. The entire task she had been set with, keeping Soi alive, was a cruel jest, a farce. Miaka was meant to fail. Her promise to Nakago had been an empty vow, as foolish and naïve as sealing Suzaku had been. Soi had lost too much blood. Surely she would die.

Miaka's face was soaked with tears when something metal and long pressed into her foot.

The scepter of Kutou.

She drew it towards her, eyes widening. It was warm to the touch, humming with energy.

-v-

**A/N:** Thank god this chapter was shorter. Ch 21 one was a monster. I know - not much happened here. But something did happen, something important: Nakago actually showed some sort of normal human emotion! I think that merits its own chapter. Right? Right?

I'd like to thank _AGrandMalfunction_, _Jean Marie Darkholme, Desert Renaissance, _and _Marguerite Lily_ (if you're reading this) for your reviews! I love getting feedback, even if it's just 'This story is so full of plotholes I'm surprised your characters haven't broken an ankle yet'.

Next chapter: excrement hits the wind-producing device. Okay, not really. But Miaka does find some useful stuff out.

-v-

**Q/A:**

**You're not planning on having Nakago blame Miaka for Soi's death, are you?**

Who ever said Soi was going to die? *looks innocent* But nope, even if Soi does die, Miaka won't get blamed for it... much…

**I am curious to know how our dear Tamahome died. Did Miaka really kill him, or was he killed by someone else, or was he killed by Nakago during a skirmish?**

Depends on your definition of murder. But Nakago wasn't involved, and Miaka is taking on more guilt than is necessary.

**Mitsukake is pretty awesome. He's like a cuddly awesome brave rugged grr bear.**

This isn't a question, but I did burst out laughing when I read this. It still makes me snort. Hahahaha.

**I really feel bad for not keeping up with your fast updates and I'm sorry for not reviewing sooner.**

Don't feel bad! I'm only posting like a madwoman right now because once semester starts I know I'm going to vanish off the face of the earth. Obviously, real life comes first!

-v-

**Questions for you:**

1) Did that scene go by too fast? I always get too excited during action scenes and detail tends to get put by the wayside…

2) Are you going to kill me over the lack of a Hotohori/Nakago/Miaka love triangle in Part III?

(There is a reason for this, although it's a pretty lame one – namely that I have a TERRIBLE time writing Hotohori. Aside from his vanity, I've always thought him impossibly perfect – and I confess, he bores me a little… oh dear, I'm not sure what this says about my taste in guys, haha). Anyway I'm sure if you people are DYING for a love triangle, I can furnish one (I mean, FY is basically a male harem with Miaka at the center).

(Also, this is a bit of a rhetorical question, since I've already written Part III, but I WOULD like to get some sense of whether I'll get death threats in the mail or something as a result of this plot decision ^_^)


	23. Tonight, could I be lost forever?

**...**

**XVIII**

**Tonight, could I be lost forever?**

**...**

**Spoiler alert**: This chapter contains major spoilers for Seiran Den, if anyone cares…

When at last Miaka fell into an exhausted sleep, the blood had ceased rushing from Soi's wound and the sounds of fighting from the front of the cave had all but ended. The cessation in fighting was not due to the deaths of those guarding her, but the annihilation of the demons by an unexpected foe.

The success of Miaka's band was largely due to the timely intervention of Kouji's and the other members of Tasuki's faction. While still in Souen, Tasuki had used beacon-signal to send a coded plea to his friends in the mountains to lie low and provide assistance as they fled the valley. Lying low was something the bandits were skilled at, and the rocky mountain terrain was nothing new to them. Catching up with Miaka's group had taken some time, but Miaka's rockslide had provided them with direction. They had arrived when the circumstances were most dire, slicing the heads off the group of demons threatening to impale Tasuki as their leader fought back-to-back with Chichiri, whose arm was broken. Now Kouji and the others formed a ring of protection at the front of the cave, a human barrier should more demons be unwise enough to attack.

After Soi, Chichiri was worst hurt, but his wound was not dire. The others bore scrapes and scratches mostly. Nakago had slain more demons than the other two combined, but he seemed to have fared better than the others. Miaka did not ask him if he was all right. Someone else had set Chichiri's arm by the time he arrived at the back of the cave; Miaka did not know who. She was glad Chichiri had not asked her to set it; she would not have known what to do.

There was dried blood all over the floor of the cave. The scepter of Kutou had ceased glowing. Miaka wondered if Nakago's powers had returned as power had flowed into her, channeled through the medium of the dragon-god's scepter, to repair the damage that the arrow had inflicted on Soi's flesh. Her memory of the healing was hazy and vague, a confused mix of tiredness and power and headache, as though the line between herself and Soi was blurred, and Miaka, not Soi, was the wounded one. At the end of it all, Miaka had felt Tasuki pry the scepter gently from her fingers, heard his voice, rough and soothing:

"Yeh did good, Miaka."

She mumbled something. It might have been thanks, or protest as he moved her aching limbs into a position more suitable for sleep, or simple assent.

She opened her eyes a little more as she felt Tasuki move her. She wanted to ask if Soi was breathing. She wanted to reassure herself that Soi was alive. She twisted a little, and for the briefest moment glimpsed Nakago as he watched the front of the cave. Some of the terrible coldness had left his expression. She did not have to look at Soi to know what that meant.

Miaka had closed her eyes, reassured, and slept.

-v-

Miaka was awoken sometime in the middle of the night. At first she did not know what had startled her; then she saw Soi's eyes near before her, luminous in the moonlight. Soi's hand was on her shoulder. It was she who had roused Miaka.

"What is it?" said Miaka, sitting up. "Has the wound reopened? Are you still –"

Miaka broke off, not because Soi interrupted her, but because her nerves whimpered protest. For a moment, it was difficult to breathe. The long climb, combined with the events of the previous day, had left her limper than noodles: weary, aching, exhausted. She felt drained, as though every scrap of energy had been sucked from her.

"I'm fine," said Soi.

Miaka thought she had never seen Soi look less fine. Soi was agitated; her muscles were tense, rigid. Even in darkness, Miaka could tell her face was drawn and pale. Had the seishi been able to stand, Miaka was sure she would have been pacing.

"Miaka," she said finally. "This may be the last time you see me as Soi."

"What?" said Miaka. "No!"

Soi reached a hand forward and clapped it across Miaka's mouth. Tasuki was snoring so loudly that Miaka's exclamation hardly mattered, but her cry seemed to disquiet Soi further. "Keep your voice down," she said sharply. "I am not dying. You do not need to mourn me, Suzaku no Miko; it is not a fault in your healing that has brought this about. This body is only large enough to hold one of us –"

Miaka's felt the walls of her chest tighten. "That can't be true," she said, careful to keep her voice quiet this time. "It doesn't make any sense. Why –"

Soi's eyes were hard, glittering like black opals against the night. "Miko," Soi said. "This was a necessary decision. The wounds inflicted on this body were grievous. Even with healing, it will take all of Soi's energy to repair the internal damage inflicted by the arrow. After this afternoon, I have decided that Kaen is correct. Soi is a liability to both of us."

The tenor of her voice shocked Miaka. Soi spoke of Kaen gently, like a mother indulging a child. Unbidden, a tear slid down Miaka's cheek; she hoped the darkness hid it.

Yards away, at the front of the cave, Miaka could make out the crouched form of Kouji, watching the terrain outside with careful attention. But he was too close not to hear them. She knew that Soi saw him as well, for Soi's hand Miaka's wrist tightened slightly as she saw the direction of Miaka's gaze.

"There are things I need to tell you," Soi said. "Can you cast a barrier? It will not cancel all sound, but it will mute it a little."

Miaka did not know if she could do it or not. She still felt desperately weak. Yet at Soi's request, she closed her eyes and summoned her remaining strength. Red expanded outward from her body like a ripple of light, a soft glow that grew to shield both herself and Soi. At the front of the cave, Kouji shot a cautious glance toward it but otherwise didn't move. Miaka wondered what he must have seen while she was healing.

"Do you know what it is to have something to protect?" Soi murmured.

Miaka had looked out for Tamahome, but most of the protecting had been on Tamahome's side. If Tamahome had survived, they would have started a family, and then she would have known. Miaka bit back a still-raw wave of regret. Silently, she stared at the blanket that covered her shoulders so that she would not need to meet Soi's eyes. The night air was cool, but not cold. She could hear whispering of the wind, very faint, from the front of the cave.

"Before I entered this world, I thought I knew what protecting someone meant," Soi said into the night. "Safeguarding, shielding, serving as armor against a physical foe… My body has always had its uses, and in the Shijintenchisho it was useful to the end.

"And now I find that I do not know so much about protecting as I once thought. I cannot protect them both. To protect Nakago would destroy Kaen, who also inhabits this body and who is very dear to me. And yet I promised a man once that I would protect Nakago all my life, were it in my ability.

"You've died for Nakago already," said Miaka, who had not been there the first time, but knew what she had heard from Tasuki, who had been. "You almost died for him again tonight!"

"Died for him, yes." Soi closed her eyes. "Protection for his body; perhaps that is all I can hope to amount to. What I swore to protect was his heart."

Her face, illuminated by the faint glow cast by Miaka's barrier, took on an expression that was almost sardonic. Miaka, focused on maintaining the barrier, which was starting to flicker, almost missed Soi's shift in demeanor. Her hands found the scepter of Kutou and clasped it, though for all the good it did, she might have been holding air.

"That is why you are necessary," said Soi.

Miaka's mouth opened; her eyes flew up to meet Soi's. "What?" she asked dumbly.

Soi shot her a look. It was a look of intense irritation, the look of a woman who does not wish to repeat herself. "You heard me," Soi snapped. "I am passing this obligation – the protection of Nakago – on to _you_."

Stunned, barely comprehending what Soi meant, Miaka could only stare. Soi could not be serious. The entire conversation was taking on a surreal, ephemeral quality. It could be a dream, a product of overexhaustion and tension from their earlier battle. Perhaps Miaka was hallucinating; perhaps she would wake, in the early dawn hours, and laugh at the ludicrous workings of her overtired mind.

"There are things you need to know about Nakago," Soi was saying, and Miaka forced herself to concentrate. Soi sounded hesitant, as though the words were being forced from her lips at great cost. "Secrets. History. I know more about Nakago than anyone – except perhaps Tomo – and there are some facts concerning Nakago's life that I must tell you, to help you understand why he is… Nakago."

"But," said Miaka, mind whirling dizzily, "if they're his secrets –"

"This is not a betrayal of trust," Soi said savagely. "Someone must know – and Nakago would never willingly share his secrets, especially not with one such as _you._"

Miaka's head snapped up as though slapped. "Then perhaps I'm the wrong one to take on this obligation," she said stiffly. "It sounds like you'd better start looking for someone else."

Soi's eyes hardened. One of her hands went to her healing shoulder. She rubbed it, an unconscious gesture. "There is no one else," said Soi, "and you _will_ do this."

Miaka swallowed. Her hands tightened over the scepter of Kutou, knuckles turning white with pressure. "Why?" she whispered. "What makes you think I'll agree to this task, Soi?"

"After you restore the world to rights and stop the demon forces, you will need a purpose in life."

If it would not have been unconscionably rude, Miaka would have laughed aloud. She forced her grip on the scepter of Kutou to relax before her hands went numb. She felt a spike of pity that was almost condescending. Soi's proposal was absurd. The idea of mindless dedication, of devoting one's existence to another, particularly a former foe, rankled Miaka too much for her to take it seriously. And yet, Soi was clearly perfectly serious.

Perhaps hidden in Soi's words was an insult as well, for there was an underlying implication that Miaka had no other uses, was not needed or wanted for anything else. Miaka raised her chin as this thought struck her. "After the demons are stopped," she said coolly, "I'll be in my home world. I'll be with my brother Keisuke, reforging my friendship with Yui, passing my high school entrance exams in Tokyo city."

But even as she spoke the words, Miaka could not help but remember what the demon had told her, as she fought with the now-dead Emperor of Kutou. The harsh finality of his verdict seemed to ring in her ears, even now, weeks after the battle.

_You will never be able to return to your world._

As though sensing Miaka's thoughts, Soi smiled, a cold, considering smile. It was an expression that Miaka was more accustomed to seeing on Nakago's face than on Soi's features. "You truly believe you can go back to that world, reclaim your life as though nothing was altered, though you have spent almost a year outside it?"

All around them, the shadows whispered, dark cruel secrets that hovered at the edges of Miaka's hearing. Miaka searched for anger, hot fury to retaliate against Soi's skepticism. Of course it would be so! Instead, she felt only sadness, immeasurable and sweeping.

She said:

"Perhaps the demons won't be beaten back, in which case none of this will matter at all. And in that case I will take on your obligation to protect…"

Oh, but it was so ridiculous – Nakago did not _have_ a heart. Miaka made a face. Even in the darkness, this expression was not lost on Soi. Soi's eyes narrowed.

"You _will_ do what I say," she said, and the look on her face was almost savage. And in the imperceptible moment when Soi's eyes met hers, Miaka knew she would not refuse (because you could not fail to honor a dying wish, and Soi had always been so much stronger than her). Soi's eyes, harsh and determined, tried to swallow her up, and Miaka, scrabbling for her own will, felt a hot tear trickle down her cheek, angry or sad she did not know.

"I _will_ go home," Miaka murmured, but with tenuous conviction.

Soi smiled. She had won, and her smile was bitterer for it. "I will begin now," she said, and the shadows ceased their whispering to listen.

-v-

This is the story of how Nakago came into being. Some of you may have heard it before, for it is a tragedy, and like all tragedies, it is a part of the song of sorrow, which everyone, at some point in their lives, has touched.

Child-Nakago had a mother; his father, he did not know. There was a story behind that, somewhere, lost to history and time. The secret of his parentage was not lost, but in the keeping of the mother who raised him, and he saw it in her eyes sometimes while she was cooking, or standing and staring at the water.

There were differences between himself and the rest of the world – too many differences (fair-skinned light-haired blue-eyed boy, don't look, don't shout, let them taunt you, turn your cheek toward them until you have no cheek to turn that isn't bruised with the weight of their fists). There was a girl, Taria, who liked to take care of him when he did not need taking care of (beautiful brave Taria, he thought she'd made it all along until the day he killed her) and her mother didn't like him because he was different, cursed. Tenkou, all-knowing worshipful demon of hate, had looked into his soul and declared him an outcast of outcasts.

Then came the day when his mother said, _I will tell you everything, all the secrets you desire of your father, if you want to know. _ And on that night she was killed, at his hands when the power he did not know he had exploded from him like a curse from the gods, and all he had to remember her by was a pearl and an empty promise.

Nakago did not speak, not even when the Emperor named him (Nakago. Pet.) and froze him and stole his dignity. And when he thought it was over (because nothing more can be stolen once you are frozen) he had the shock of being brought back to life and being slaughtered again, now by Taria.

Taria, who looked at him and shouted, _Don't give in_ (and she was the last survivor amidst the Hin-tribe's suicide, so she must know something about not giving in). They killed her of course, murdered her in broad daylight in the midst of the courtyard. All of her, neck from her shoulders.

And he saw blue.

(I am Nakago, Seiryuu seishi. What orders does my lord have for me?)

Gi Kouryuu, the shogun before Nakago was shogun, teaching him what it meant to wear a mask every day of your life. Of course, Gi Koryuu would know, love of the hated tribe-woman kept hidden all those years under the veneer of serving Kutou. Secrets were the glue that held Kutou together, so of course the frail peace must shatter eventually, and how it did shatter! Son and father, father and son, locked in a cruel battle for dominance over Kutou. Betrayal happened quickly, and Gi Kouryuu, not Nakago, was the one to blame. But with Tomo's help, Nakago killed the man he didn't know what his father, murdered him in the heat of battle, and then, only as his life blood pooled at his feet, did Gi Koryuu look at the pearl on Nakago's chest and realize this man was his son.

And Nakago, in spite of the death of his father, did not shed a tear.

-v-

If Nakago heard none or all or part of Soi's narrative, Miaka would never learn of it. Soi knew, of course. She was alert enough to notice the collapse of the miko's barrier halfway through the story, and to realize that any conversation that transpired in the cave could not fail to have an audience. Soi knew Nakago, like her, was not a heavy sleeper (so much easier to keep away demons when you slept light). But when the fabric of your life is being torn out by the seams, what does it matter if someone hears your last, harsh whispers in the darkness?

If a glimmer of light from the corner caught her attention – light that might or might not have been the reflection of moonlight off of eyes of pure cerulean – she kept it hidden, from her voice and her words, so that Nakago would never know if she had seen.

"Soi," said Miaka.

The breeze swept over them from the cave-front like a caress, ruffling Soi's hair and the hair of the woman beside her, and the moon and the stars shimmered their high, cold promise of a distant dawn.

"Will you do this?" said Soi coldly. "Knowing what you know now?"

"I suppose, I…"

Miaka pressed her fingers to her closed eyelids, and even still the demon's voice was a litany impossible to be free of. It was a harsh promise, the seal to the lock on her prison.

_You will never be able to return to your world._

She thought too, of Soi's story, thought of the child Nakago had been. Cruel, terrible fate for an innocent. Coldness, building, to eventually become the mask that consumed Nakago.

"I just need to keep an eye on him?" Miaka said, opening her eyes. They shone clear and bright in the starlight. "That's all you want me to do?"

Soi was silent, but Miaka took it as assent. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of her covers.

"Soi?' she said tentatively, for it seemed the other woman was on the verge of speaking, revealing untold secrets.

"Kaen does not understand why I still love him," Soi whispered. "She sees the world in black and white still, as I did a long time ago. She does not think that a man who has committed so many violent deeds as Nakago has can possibly have a heart. And so she feels that any close contact I have with him will be a detriment to us."

"_Does_ Nakago have a heart?" said Miaka.

Soi stared out into the night.

"He did, once," she said. "He was sixteen years old, and the owner of a brothel was about to murder me. His actions saved my life. I have never forgotten. I am sure he has. It was a long time ago."

It was so tragic that Miaka wished she had tears left to cry. She remembered what she had witnessed earlier that night and froze.

_"He does care about you,"_ Miaka wanted to say. _"He was so shocked by your injury he held you for three minutes when we should have been seeking shelter, saying nothing, doing nothing."_

Miaka almost opened her mouth, desperate not to leave Soi with the misconception that all was hopeless. The words were on the tip of her tongue – _say them, say them! _

But nothing that Miaka said would change Soi's decision to defer to Kaen. Knowing of Nakago's regard for her would likely only intensify Soi's pain.

And so, though the act would cost her more than a few sleepless nights, Miaka swallowed her words. They left a bitter, sick lump in her throat.

She had just taken on her first burden as protector.

-v-

**A/N:** So now you know where the title comes from! *Cackles evilly*

I'm not sure why, but this was one of my favorite chapters. Maybe because I really like Soi as a character. Maybe because Miaka actually finds out something useful. Maybe because we get a mild inversion of the whole guy-protects-girl stereotype.

As always, thanks to my reviewers, _Alcestis, Marguerite Lily, AGrandMalfunction, Desert Renaissance, Jean Marie Darkholme, flaire88_. You keep me posting!

One more, shortish chapter/epilogue after this, and then on to Part III! Except I'm not going to start posting until I've finished writing it – so it might be awhile before I start posting it!

-v-

**Q/A: **

**Well, I see Seiryuu is channeling through Miaka. What happened? Did the dragon got desperate and 'willingly' helped her or is there a hidden motive?**

Taitsukun/the gods are in deep trouble right now. Seiryuu's not just showing his sudden altruism for the poor, threatened villagers when he nudges Miaka into blowing up the cliff. There is something else he's trying to save, which will be revealed later on.

**Who do you have in mind for a three-person love triangle?**

I'm not guaranteeing one – it depends on whether I can actually fit it into the story (I have plenty to write about already! Ack). What's your preference? I'm also not guaranteeing I'll listen to you ^_^

**Is Kaen evil? **

What do YOU think?

-v-

**Disclaimer:** All characters and places you recognize belong to Yuu Watase and are not, therefore, mine. Also, any lines that sound like they came out of Inu-Yasha (e.g. 'Do you know what it means to have something to protect?') probably reflect my at-one-time unhealthy obsession with that series.


	24. To Drown

**XXIV**

**Part II: Epilogue (To drown)**

Chichiri woke Miaka early, before the dawn had broken, shaking her gently to rouse her from her rough bed on the rocks.

"Miaka," he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open, and only then did feeling return to her limbs. His touch caused her to bolt upright as if a hundred sharp needles had just pierce her skin. "Are the demons back?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Soi slept on the bedroll next to Miaka, pale as a sheaf of freshly-made parchment. Slightly farther away, Tasuki's limp form sprawled across a nearby sleeping roll, arms and legs extended loosely. Beyond him, the other bandits had made beds for themselves among the rocks.

Chichiri pressed a finger against the mask that hid his mouth. Given that Tasuki was snoring loud enough to rouse the undead, Miaka doubted her questions would drive the others to wakefulness. Nonetheless she felt chagrined. The sight of the others' peaceful sleeping soothed Miaka. Had there been an emergency, the others would not have been resting, limbs relaxed, mouths open slightly as though waiting for some kind of sound to fill them.

Chichiri tapped Miaka on the shoulder and beckoned for her to follow him. Carefully, he stepped across Kaen's feet, toward the back of the cave. Chichiri's left arm was in a crudely-fashioned sling. In Chichiri's right hand was a stick with a rag and flames licking it, a kind of makeshift torch – and, as he held it before him, Miaka saw that the cave extended farther back than she had thought. Where the rear of the cave should have been was instead darkness – a passage of sorts, a natural cavity in the rock that extended far ahead of them. Chichiri beckoned a hand again, and Miaka, confused but compliant, stepped over Kaen's sleeping form and trudged after him.

They walked in silence as the tunnel became a small cavern. The cavern air was damp, cool but not as chill as the outside air. They were walking up; that was all Miaka knew. The cloak-and-dagger nature of the expedition confused her, and when she thought they were out of hearing range of the sleeping forms in the cave they had left, Miaka tugged Chichiri's sleeve and said, "Where are we going?"

Her voice was louder than she had intended. It reflected off the walls of the cave like light off a hundred mirrors, vibrating, until a chorus of speakers seemed to be muttering 'where's and 'are's and 'going's up and down the cavern in discordant harmony. Miaka cringed.

In the dim light of the torch that he carried, Miaka saw Chichiri press a finger to his lips again. A vague sense of guilt filled her, even though she couldn't have possibly have known about the echo. _Sorry_, she thought but could not say. She hoped her eyes would convey enough, and they seemed to. Chichiri nodded, turned and set off again, and Miaka, stumbling slightly with the weight of her exhaustion, followed him.

Chichiri's torch was sufficient to illuminate a few feet ahead but very little else; his torch cast dark shadows which danced and shifted with every step. Each step took them slightly farther uphill. There seemed no end to this tunnel, and after a time Miaka stopped counting footsteps. She stopped thinking. Time seemed to hone in directly on the _now_, the miserable present of moving her feet, one before the other, in hopes of arriving at an unknown destination. All that mattered was that she keep moving, that she not falter, fall down, and sleep. Not only would it be extremely embarrassing, but the resulting head wound would like-as-not severely delay their journey.

At last Miaka saw something that was not the dull, orange-and-red glow of Chichiri's torch, but a softer, whiter light which might be called natural. Air wafted toward her, clean and fresh, and Miaka's mind registered dimly that were nearing the end of the tunnel.

"We can talk safely now, no da."

Chichiri's voice did not echo. It was sure and steady and quiet.

"Why have you brought me here?" Miaka asked. It would help if she knew where _here_ was, for she could not reconcile the jumble of twists and turns and upward inclines in the tunnel against the flatness of the world they had just emerged into. She narrowed her eyes against the light. There was really very little of it – only enough to let her know dawn was coming – and yet after the darkness that had surrounded them, even this seemed too much.

"We are at the top of the cliffs," said Chichiri, as though sensing her real question. He turned and beckoned her onward. "Come."

He led her into a small copse, and she realized then that they were not alone. The light might have been dim, but it was not hard to make out the shapes of horses snorting gently, nor the silhouette of the man who was saddling the farther horse.

She made a face at Nakago's back. To Chichiri, she said: "You still haven't told me what's going on."

"You are leaving for Eiyou, no da," said Chichiri. "Two of the demons we killed possessed horses. They will expedite your journey, no da."

"But Tasuki –" she murmured, thinking of the bandit they had left sleeping in the cave. Why had they not roused him, if they were supposed to be traveling now?

The horses were tethered; they watched her with soft eyes. For horses of demons, they seemed gentle. The closer mare was already saddled and bore her pack and the scepter of Kutou. Miaka watched Nakago place his pack on the back of the other horse. Then she turned to Chichiri, a frown on her brow. Chichiri seemed to be waiting still, as though he had not heard her say anything. Miaka swallowed.

"We have only two horses," she said. "But with you, me, Tasuki, and Nakago, there are four of us."

"But there are two horses," said Chichiri.

That was what she had said! Was that not what she had just said? Miaka's mouth opened, her eyes wide with confusion.

Chichiri stood and looked at her and looked at Nakago, who had finished saddling the horse and was mounting it, and then he stared at her as though he was trying to tell her something important, or she was being very dense – and she suddenly understood.

"No," Miaka said, shaking her head slowly. "Don't give me that! You're coming too, Chichiri. I need you to come with me to Eiyou."

"My injury will slow you down, no da."

"Tasuki," she said desperately, glancing back the way they had come, as though hoping Tasuki would, by some bizarre magic, appear right before them. "What about Tasuki?"

"Miaka," said Chichiri gently, "Suzaku's weaknesses make us quite vulnerable. Seishi who do not remember you will be dangerous if you run into trouble. Tasuki and I must meet up with Mitsukake and the Souen villagers. We will arrive at Eiyou later, no da. Do not wait for us."

Chichiri turned to Nakago.

"Protect her," the monk said simply.

The words jolted Miaka out of her stupor. She stared at Chichiri, but it was not Chichiri she saw, but Soi, her face tight in the darkness:

_"I am passing this obligation – the protection of Nakago – on to _you_."_

The memory faded, and Chichiri was still regarding Nakago. Miaka saw Nakago incline his head fractionally. She clutched her cloak tighter against her body. The air was moist, and the dampness that rose from the water below seemed to cling to her skin and stay there.

The sky was lightening, but there would not be a proper dawn; the thick clouds saw to that. Miaka glanced once back into the dark of the cave they had just left. She glanced up at Nakago, and she saw that his eyes were trained on her, so blue that she thought of oceans, of vast, endless expanses of water. For a moment, she felt like she was drowning. She grabbed the reins by her horse's mane, reached for the scepter.

"Let's go," she said, raising her chin strongly. "Let's ride to Eiyou."

A songbird chirped and fell silent. For a moment, Miaka thought she saw a sunbeam dart in and out of the cloud cover and skitter over the treetops. She clutched the scepter and mounted the dapple mare.

She felt Chichiri's hand touch her in farewell, but she did not look down, did not turn her head to glance back toward the cave. She rode out into the light, galloping on until her hands were cold and stiff. The clouds were fading, the sun burning away the mist. And still she rode, not looking back, until the sky was as clear and cerulean as the eyes of the man who rode behind her.

-v-

**A/N:** AND THAT'S IT FOR PART II, FOLKS! I said I would finish by Labor Day, and I'm technically a few hours late, but hey, I got busy.

So now Miaka and Nakago are traveling alone once again, with the potential for lots of crazy stuff to happen. **Stay tuned for Part III:** Miaka delves deeper into Nakago's past, Tomo and our Primary Villain make an appearance, we meet up with old friends in Eiyou, and Nakago proves, once again, that his capacity for strategy is something to be feared!

Thanks so much to _Alcestis, tohru78, Jean Marie Darkholme, Flaire88, _and _Desert Renaissance_ for your reviews for the last chapter, and to all the other people who've been reading this! Drop me a line, even if it's just 'wtf?'

-v-

**Q/A:**

**Is Soi dying?**

According to Soi, her personality is becoming permanently buried, so Kaen will be controlling her body from now on.

**How will Nakago respond to Soi's conversation Miaka?**

By using it to his advantage of course! Would you expect anything else?

**How will the idea that Miaka might not be able to return to her own world affect her? **

She's trying not to think about that.

-v-

**Question for you guys:**

Now that we've reached the end of Part II, I'm curious. Early on in writing this story I was pretty concerned about Soi. I mean, we've had this discussion. She's such a huge part of Nakago's life in the manga, etc, etc. She needed to be here. And I didn't want to make her the jealous b**** in the background, because she's just not villain material (we see how much she sucked at being evil in FY). But nor was she going to be best buddies with Miaka.

So do you think her role in the story has worked so far? What are your opinions of her as a character?

-v-

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase and is therefore not mine.


	25. Part III: Prelude

**...**

**XXV**

**Prelude**

**...**

Sometime between Suzaku's summoning and the Suzaku no Miko's final, fated wish, Nakago, the last standing seishi of Seiryuu, had died for five minutes.

Death was very floral. Petals drifted about him on whispers of wind.

His mother straightened from the bed of flowers that cushioned the ground and held out her hand. "Walk with me," she said.

He had not taken her hand, but they had walked, amidst a shifting garden of pale lotuses and daphne and hydrangea, camellia and roses and blood irises, blossoming cherry trees that cast their petals down like a shower of snow as they passed beneath.

"We have very little time," Matuta said gently. "There are some things that Taiitsukun asked that I relay to you before you depart."

He took in the news of his departure with composure, and did not speak for a moment – watching the petals drift down in lazy ripples from the treetop. Presently he said:

"At which level of hell did the gods see fit to place me?"

Matuta smiled, and her eyes lit with a brilliant light.

"Hell?" she chuckled. "I suppose some would call it the worst level of Hell. The mortal realm does not agree with everyone."

She knew something that he did not. His eyes narrowed, for Nakago was not one who enjoyed having games played of him that were not of his own devising. "I am dead," he said, voice even.

"You are," Matuta murmured, "but in three minutes, you will not be. The Suzaku no Miko has been alternately thoughtful and naive in choosing her wishes. I think you will find your new situation a mixed blessing and burden. "

She might believe it mixed, but life was burden, and Nakago should have despised the Suzaku no Miko in that moment, for being foolish enough to engineer a wish that would deny him even this mercy. Should have, but his fury seemed weak, and after a moment it seemed to fade, as though the beauty of their surroundings had wicked it away like a sponge.

"Here you cannot feel true hatred," Matuta said. "One grows accustomed to it."

"And where is here?"

Here was Mount Taikyoku, and he was not surprised by her response, but it was useful to hear it from her mouth. Matuta said:

"We have two minutes left, and I must beg a promise from you before you return."

So they had come at last to the true reason for his presence here. Nakago allowed his gaze to wander, past the flowers, past the edge of the garden, beyond the meadow with its winding trail. Here, the world seemed to drop off into nothingness, and there were no mountains in the distance to re-anchor one's notion of space.

"Do not repeat my former mistakes?" he asked her, still staring out past the edge of the world, and his eyes glittered as though touched by hoarfrost.

"Do not allow yourself to be tempted by Tenkou."

Nakago's face did not change; only one who knew him well would have sensed his surprise. "An interesting promise," he said, "and perhaps a difficult one to keep."

"You spent all your life in Tenkou's shadow," said Matuta, "first out of fear, then out of hate. You worshipped Tenkou because you wished to avenge yourself upon the heavens that had brought you such misery."

He suppressed annoyance; it was not only he who had worshipped Tenkou, but their entire tribe. He had been taught from birth that a dark figure in a lake of death rose forward to give of his secrets.

"We were wrong," said Matuta softly. It crossed his mind she could read his thoughts, but it did not seem to perturb him as it should have. "He is not a god," she said, "only a man, or a ghost of a man, powerful and ambitious and warped by time and hate."

He said nothing, allowed her words to flow over him.

"In the world into which you travel now, **Tenkou does not have power**. You must keep it so, Ayuru."

His eyes trailed over the cherry blossoms drifting from the treetops. One brushed his mother's hair and clung there, trapped in a tendril of gold.

Matuta plucked a flower from the ground, blue, _lanxing_; he smelled his scent, though he stood far from her. "Remember this, Ayuru. The things that seem smallest," she said, squeezing it in her palm, "weakest, most fragile, often possess a strange resilience."

She opened her palm and the flower was whole. Smiling, she held it toward him. An offering. He did not move to accept it.

"At one point your words might have influenced me," Nakago said, "but Tenkou wields a power stronger than the woman who asked you to relay these words to me. Control of hatred – pain – fear - the worst qualities that form what makes up humanity. And that is what most humanity is – and what feeds Tenkou."

"Perhaps," said Matuta, still smiling. She touched his hand, not a ghost's touch, but a grasp strong and warm. He did not jerk his hand away, but let her take his fingers in his for a moment, press the flower into them. The cherry blossoms around them were dissolving, and with them, Matuta. "And yet, my son," said Matuta, and her voice was still strong, "I think you'll find that Taiitsukun, and not Tenkou sent me to you, although we worshipped Tenkou while we were in Kutou. Remember that, if nothing else."

* * *

Yes, I have finally finished my thesis. Yes, I am back. Yes, this story is going to be finished.


	26. It's a thief in the night

**...**

**XXVI**

**It's a thief in the night**

**...**

In one day, they were due to arrive at Eiyou, home to the man Nakago had murdered. Nakago was still alive. Nakago was still traveling with Miaka. And Miaka was growing increasingly desperate.

She felt she was being torn into pieces, as if one false step of hers would effect an avalanche. The promise she had made to Soi had set off this depression. It was too great a burden in combination with her other problems. _Save the world, and save Nakago, too! _

She did not know how to speak to Nakago after learning what she had from Soi; pity for his former self warred with the knowledge of what he had become; fury at his cruelty outweighed her guilt for her own thoughtless words. Consequently, they spoke little on their journey, and the awkward silence did little to soothe Miaka's feeling of dwindling sanity.

That is – until the third day of their near-silent journey together. That was the day that everything went wrong; the day that heaven seemed to decide to take a hiatus from making sure the world ran right and let darkness have its fun as it liked. How fitting, that it was two months to the day after Tamahome's death.

This realization came to her as they ate wild duck silently during their noonday stop. It was as if a rock had suddenly settled behind her ribcage, bringing with it a leaden heaviness, which crawled into her throat. The slightest thing was suddenly enough to remind her of what she had lost. They were sitting beneath pine trees, and the scent from the rising sap brought at once to her mind the wood of Tamahome's dresser – pine, and sharp smelling. It had infiltrated his clothes, and so it was a scent she had come to associate with him in her mind.

She lowered her head, but no amount of forcing could turn her mind off the scent which surrounded them. The sky was dark, but not dark enough to hide her tears, which built up behind her eyes. Pressure forced them out, the pressure of a hundred memories that battered her skull and buffeted the backs of her now-closed eyelids. Her cheeks were wet; she could feel the tears tracing sticky tracks down her chin, dripping onto the ground like saltwater rain.

_Please,_ she thought, _let me stop crying so that I can pack camp and we can leave this place._ She continued to hide her face, even as the minutes ticked by, even though she knew it was time to break camp. Nakago could not see. Nakago –

"Miko," said Nakago. She could not move, crouched against the pine tree, hair across her eyes. He reached a hand forward, and before she could stop him he had lifted the curtain of hair from her eyes.

"Hm."

There was a sneer to his voice, or perhaps cold laughter, as his glittering eyes met hers. She did not know how she knew, but Miaka suddenly understood that Nakago wanted to humiliate her, had been waiting for this opportunity for the entirety of their journey alone together. What had brought on this newfound malevolence she did not know; she only knew that he wanted to drive painful words beneath her skin like splinters. Had Miaka thought, she might have drawn some connection between their departure from Soi and Nakago's ill temper. She did not consider this. It seemed much too far a stretch that Nakago's malevolence might be the product of worry.

"Nakago," she said, her voice more sob than words.

"Pathetic, Suzaku no Miko."

"I have a right to be sad," she said harshly. "It's exactly two months since my world was ruined forever."

"And that gives you right to be sad?" he said cruelly. "Do you think sadness is a right, Miko of Suzaku? Do you intend to sit here bawling as demons overrun this world? Will tears stop them?"

"You don't have to be so cruel!" she cried.

"Weak, helpless miko. What use are you to anyone? If the brat were still alive he would see what a useless, weeping thing he married. I wonder if he would still or reconsider. But the boy always had poor judgment."

Her eyes blazed. "DON'T-" she screamed.

He caught her wrist before she had a chance to flame him. She was scorching his hand – she could smell burning flesh and it sickened her – but still he hung on, still his eyes lanced her skin like needles. "Don't _what_, Suzaku no miko?"

The sky had threatened thunderstorms all morning, and these seemed to decide that now would be a fair time to break. Cascades of rain poured down around them – frozen miko and cruel seishi of Seiryuu, gazes locked in pure hate, until finally Nakago, lip curling, released her wrist and murmured, "Break camp."

That afternoon, Miaka concluded two things.

The first was that Nakago did not deserve, and would never receive, her pity.

The second was that – whatever Soi's opinion might have been – no one had ever needed less protection than Nakago, Emperor of Kutou.

-v-

Nakago watched the miko. Her sleep was restless; he suspected his words regarding Tamahome still disturbed her. That did not trouble him. Her lack of control was a continued annoyance which weighed on his mind like a heavy sack. She was thin, frail, impossibly vulnerable, with no hope of completing the mission to summon the gods. He could so easily be rid of her. He had only to call on Tenkou and the demon would appear, right here, right now.

Had he trusted Tenkou fully to uphold his promises, the miko would already be in Tenkou's possession. It was the assassin that had stopped him – the assassin that Tenkou had sent the morning the miko had left the palace at Kutou. The appearance of the assassin told Nakago that Tenkou did not fully trust him, that Tenkou was testing his resilience. It had filled him with wariness. And yet, Nakago could still turn the miko in to Tenkou now, claiming that his protection of her on the ridge had been key to making her trust him utterly.

He knew the time was coming when he would have to make a choice; it was a dangerous game he played, balanced upon the edge of a knife, on neither one side nor the other. He was realistic enough to know that such a position was precarious, untenable. Soon he would fall, unless he stepped off the knife-blade of his own will.

His mother would have had him side with the miko – whose power was still undeveloped, tenuous, unpredictable at best. Did she have the strength to fulfill a quest which seemed to him increasingly unlikely to be completed at all?

His fingers found something small and soft in the mess of dirt and rubble on the ground beneath him. He lifted the blue flower that had been growing in the most improbable of places, crushing it between his fingers.

"I do not require your continued interference, Mother," he said coolly. "I know very well where you stand on this matter."

The wind caught his words, carried them out of the cave and upward. Perhaps they would reach Mount Taiitsukun; perhaps they would be lost on the wind like the scent of the blue flower, now crushed in his hand.

-v-

Miaka met Yui Hongo on a cloud overlooking the mountains. The air should have been cold but Miaka didn't feel it, which was how she knew it was a dream. The fact that she was 3000 feet in the air and not falling also played a role in this conclusion.

It was not the first time Miaka had met Yui in this way, but it was the first time since Tamahome's death. Even before his death, their conversations had been infrequent, perhaps once every two or three months. Miaka did not know what rule of the universe Taiitsukun was bending so that she was still able to keep this one last, fragile tie to her native world, but she was grateful for it.

Yui's arms encircled her now, oddly solid in spite of the fact that they were communicating by dream. Miaka had just told Yui of Tamahome's death, in as few words as was possible to convey so heavy a circumstance. Now, Yui watched her as though worried Miaka would vanish into a void of despair at any minute; Miaka found her look strangely stifling.

"I'm not sad now," said Miaka. She was surprised to find that this was true. Her earlier sadness had vanished, leaving behind something like blankness.

"Yes you are," said Yui. "Don't lie!"

_Perhaps I am losing my heart_, thought Miaka. She pulled herself free of Yui's grasp to look at her friend. "How much time has passed?" she said. "What's happened back at home?"

She tried to force out of her head the demon's jeer: _You will never be free to go home, even if you succeed._

"It's been twenty days in our world since you summoned the gods," said Yui.

Miaka would be an old woman when Yui was barely out of her teens. It was a grim verdict, and one she had tried not to dwell on.

"Tetsuya asked me to go on a date," Yui said. "I said yes." She said it matter-of-factly, as though she was discussing the results of an exam, or the weather. "You look worried," she said.

"I have to figure out how to escape someone who is impossible to fool," Miaka murmured. With her toe, she poked one of the clouds they sat on.

"You are traveling with Nakago?" A frown marred Yui's brow. "The book did not explain why."

"I won't be with him much longer," said Miaka. "Soon we'll reach Eiyou, and I don't know what will happen if he's still with me by then. What Hotohori will – what Nakago will do to Hotohori."

"Are you planning to kill Nakago?"

Miaka's head flew up. Yui's words had been dispassionate, but her eyes were not. She looked sad. Miaka remembered that for her, it had only been three weeks since the gods had been summoned. Miaka was not the only one that the Shijintenchisho had changed.

"I've never killed anyone!" Miaka said emphatically. She shot a sidelong glance at Yui. "Are you saying I _should_? I guess no one has ever deserved it more than Nakago –"

No, that wasn't true. After what Soi had told her, she did not know if he deserved it still or not.

"I do not know why he is here!" It was a cry of frustration, furious and miserable. "Do you know what he said to me today? How he insulted Tamahome? I despise him."

Yui watched her quietly, hands drifting through the clouds. This was a dream, so they felt soft, like feathers brushing against her skin.

"Miaka," she said slowly. "I don't think you should kill Nakago."

Miaka relaxed. "You don't?" she said.

"No," said Yui. "I would worry more if Nakago were treating you as though you actually thought you worth his time. I doubt he is toying with you."

"But what if he kills Hotohori?" said Miaka.

"Then," said Yui, "the second emperor in a month will have died, and Hong-Nan will have a new king."

-v-

The flush of cold water across her face and neck brought her out of her sleep and off the pallet with a furious shriek. Coolly, Nakago tossed the empty cup away.

"I gave you a chance," he said.

"I said ten minutes!" Miaka cried.

"You have said the same thing the last three times I tried to rouse you," he said unflappably. "It is your turn to keep watch. I would like some sleep before the night is out."

The top of her tunic was soaked. The mountain night air was not frigid, but neither was it warm, and Miaka felt like shouting. They were camped inside a cave, which sheltered them from the wind, but it did not stop her from shivering.

It was three in the morning, far too early for any reasonable person to be awake, much less without coffee. Miaka changed quickly in the dark of the cave, shooting glares at Nakago. He was not watching. When she was once again dry, she crept to the mouth of the cave beyond their small fire.

From there, she regarded the man she was supposed to protect. His face was as coldly beautiful by night as it was in daylight, features highlighted by the splash of firelight off his cheekbones. He was close enough to the firelight that she could see every detail of his face, from the way his lashes framed his closed lids to the arch of his cheekbones, thrown into sharp relief by the dying flames.

Miaka's heart sped up, but did not soften, at the sight.

"Although some would call your fascination for me flattering, you are _not_ keeping watch, miko."

Her face went a sharp red, hidden in the shadows. "Stop pretending to be asleep when you actually aren't," she hissed, and she turned toward the front of the cave.

She felt unnerved with her back to him, as though suddenly Nakago had become more of a menace than any demon that walked the night. Fifteen minutes passed before she dared glance toward him again.

This time, his breathing was more regular, even and measured like the beat of seawater on a shoreline. She counted seconds between breaths. Without even realizing it, she found herself breathing in time to Nakago. She relaxed.

He was asleep.

It was time. Time to act, time to ensure that Nakago did not ever enter Eiyou, did not bring his malevolence to bear on Hotohori, or on the others she cared about. Time to show that strength and not weakness governed her actions; time to cease being afraid.

She did not know what Nakago's intentions were, but they could not be anything but bad; their exchange in Mitsukake's garden, when she had accused him of targeting Hotohori, burgeoned in her mind like a cancer. She could not let any more harm come to the people she loved; she could not be convinced of Nakago's good intentions; and thus, she must stop him. His cruelty to her that day proved that he could not stand for anything good.

She raised her hands in front of her. Red light blossomed before her fingers in a curved arc, spreading gently across the cavern, to cover Nakago's form in a glowing orb.

She would run. Nakago would be trapped here, until she was too far from the cave to maintain her barrier, until she was practically at Eiyou's gates. He would likely sleep through her departure and not even realize she was gone until morning.

She picked up her pack, shoving the remains of the night's food inside it. Here, she hesitated. Surely Nakago would not miss some of his provisions, not when they were this close to civilization. She removed a few cakes from his bag. She was still growing – at least, in the horizontal dimension.

She smiled and reached for the staff. Throughout all her activity, the barrier had continued to glow softly, testimony to her newfound skill. She stepped back, toward the edge of the cave.

Nakago's eyes opened.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Heh. Cliffie. Thanks for all your reviews and encouragement; it's good to know some people out there are still reading this! ^_^

-v-

**Questions from you: **

**1) Does lanxing represent Miaka? Is it a symbol that Nakago's mother used to remind him that he has to maintain a semblance of humanity?**

Both of those things, but maybe a bit more the former.

**2) I am looking forward to more Nakago x Miaka sparring/bonding.**

Good, so am I.

**3) I feel bad for Soi as she's going to be left behind after all she did for Nakago. Will she find her happiness at the end of this story? or at least…a happy closure?**

If all goes well… I do like happy endings. But no guarantees that her life won't be even more screwed between now and the story's end.

**4) How does Nakago feel about Tenkou?**

Maybe this chapter answered that question, at least a little. Nakago holds no love for Tenkou. At the same time, he respects the power Tenkou wields, and he has no intention of sacrificing his life on a fool's journey where he has no hope of succeeding.


	27. To come and grab you

**...**

**XXVII**

**To come and grab you**

**...**

The barrier Miaka had erected to contain Nakago was a wall like a red haze, blurring vision but not obscuring sound. Swallowing, Miaka stared through the veil of her chi to lock eyes with the man trapped inside.

"Miko," said Nakago dangerously.

Miaka breathed quickly. Immediate flight would have been the most prudent. Her powers would weaken the longer she maintained the shield. And Miaka did not want, did not _need_, a confrontation with Nakago. She feared her sanity, thinly strung, would snap at the next provocation. But something held her in place. Perhaps it was fear that froze her feet to the cave rocks below her thin shoes; but it might also have been triumph. Miaka could see – from the way his eyes flashed with rage – that this time, she had actually, truly angered him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Nakago asked in a tone of eerie calm.

His words brought the fear rushing back again. Miaka fisted her hand around the pack she had been about to make off with. In her other hand she clutched the scepter. She should not be frightened. She had control of chi, was free to wander wherever she pleased. Nakago was the one who ought to be frightened; he lacked his seishi powers – he was in a bubble, for Suzaku's sake!

So said Miaka's rational self, which laughed at her sweaty hands and fast breathing. But try as she might, Miaka could not help but conjure images of how Nakago would punish her when his powers _did_ return, when she had gathered the standards and summoned the gods. He had nearly strangled Tasuki for less, only four days ago.

(_Didn't think of that part, did you Yuuki? Didn't think of how he would hunt you down and make you pay for besting him, not once, but twice? Or when he gets free from here, maybe he won't even need his powers – he'll likely be able to track you down, drive a sword through your heart as you sleep…_)

_Courage, Yuuki, live up to your name!_

"Remember our conversation earlier, in Mitsukake's house," said Miaka, taking a step backwards. "How I said I could put you in a shield and run off, but I hadn't yet?"

"I remember," said Nakago.

"Well," she said bravely, "I've changed my mind, and this is the product of it."

"And what," he said – Miaka had never heard his voice so icily saracastic – "brought about this dramatic reversal in plan?"

"What do you think."

"I have no guesses," said Nakago.

His hand slammed against her barrier, and she winced. The soft light wavered and held firm. Emboldened, she raised her chin and glared at him.

"You're so stupid," said Miaka.

His eyes narrowed. Miaka flung down her pack down, shaking with rage.

"I don't care," she said, "what you do to me. I don't care what you say about _me_. But when you treat everyone I care about as you have done, I won't stand for it."

He smiled slowly.

"Lies, Suzaku no Miko. You _do_ care what I say to you, or you would not be furious now. Your reaction to my remarks about Tamahome this afternoon was proof of that."

She bit back her rage.

"_I don't trust you_," she hissed. "You've given me no reason to trust you, and this afternoon cemented it."

"You were pitying yourself," said Nakago impassively. "That was pointless and dangerous."

"Don't attempt to justify your actions," she said. "You _revel_ in the misery of others, and you never do anything that doesn't serve your own, twisted purposes. You didn't come on this journey to 'save the world' – no, your motives aren't nearly so pure. You want revenge on Hong-Nan."

Miaka leaned closer to the barrier that divided them. "Deny it," she hissed.

"If I wished to kill the Emperor of Hong-Nan – or your other charmingly devoted warriors for that matter – now would hardly be the time or the place, Suzaku no Miko," he said smoothly. "Why not wait until _after _the gods have been summoned and Tenkou destroyed to see your precious emperor wiped out of existence? With my powers returned, I would be far better protected from any attempts at retribution – do you not agree?"

"So that's the plan, then!" Miaka took a step backward, chest heaving. "You're on this mission to see your powers returned so that you can wreak havoc on Hong-Nan when it suits you. I'm glad that's out in the open."

"Why should I deny it?" He smiled, and she stilled. "If I cannot wreak havoc on the heavens, at least I can bring the mortal realms under my control."

She was breathing fast, and her heart was pounding. She would have slapped him, were it not for the barrier that separated them.

"I can stop you now," she told him, voice shaking. "I can kill you." She touched her barrier, strengthening it. "I can shrink this," she said, "I can shrink it until you are trapped in a space that is too small for you – I can shrink it even further until it absorbs you, until there is nothing left of you but ash and charcoal and whatever else remains when chi fries a human body. I can do it. I will."

Nakago's laughter broke the silence. It was low, cold, a ripple that vibrated through the air around them like an aftershock from an earthquake. Miaka drew in a breath, of fear and of rage and confusion.

"You _have_ changed, Seiryuu no Miko," said Nakago, eyes glinting, and he smiled and it was half-bitter. Miaka took a step backward and almost lost her footing on a rock. "We are really not so different now."

"You're wrong!" she cried, but her voice betrayed her; it cracked into pieces as she mustered her strength. The barrier blazed and shrank inward a foot, but Nakago did not flinch, and it was Miaka, not Nakago, who was shaking.

"Power," he said smoothly. "And hatred – those are the only things worth knowing. The strong survive, and the ones who learn to kill first are not killed themselves. You believe that there is no respite from your guilt in this world – except there is, and you have come to realize it." Miaka's face, so white it could almost have been mistaken for the waxing gibbous outside the cave – her hands, trembling against the pack she still clung: Nakago saw these things and smiled at them. "Watching as others are tortured out of existence…" he said softly, "a pretty catharsis, for your own mistakes –"

"_Stop it!_"

Miaka trembled, not with rage, but with horror. Disgust slammed into her as though she had bitten down on rotten fruit, filling her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe.

"Stop what, Seiryuu no Miko?" he asked softly, and she snarled, "Don't call me that again!"

There was a silence then, so charged that the air seemed to hum with it. Miaka's hand clasped the scepter so tight her fingers had no feeling.

"Release me," Nakago said, voice very cold, and she, still undone, drew in a sharp breath and said only:

"_No_."

Then she was out of the cave and under the moonlight – the moonlight which blazed upon her like an accusing eye, and she cowered beneath the tree cover and ran, tearless, and horrified, down the rocky slope. The barrier in the cave was still strong, and she did not let it drop – _no_, she thought, _I can't let it fall, he is a monster; he must not go free..._

Her heart thundered with horror, even as she drew in her breath with harsh and harsher gasps, and the air seemed so cold as to tear her lungs apart. She drew it into her and ran, drew her cloak around her, and there was mercy in running. The pounding of her feet was sufficient to drown out all thought. As long as she kept running, she would be able to live, and the drowning horror would not consume her, and she was tired – so exhausted she could barely hold up her head.

She splashed across a stream, and the cold water burned through her skin, but then she was across it and running once more. She tripped and fell, rolled five feet down the slope and bruised her side on a stump. The stump was lichen-streaked and stopped her fall. Her pack rolled down the slope, and she had lost hold of the scepter of Kutou during her fall. Miaka sucked in air.

There was a glimmer somewhere ahead of her that spoke of moonbeams on water. Miaka was desperately thirsty, so she pulled herself to her feet and walked down the slope. She came to a lake, grassy-shored and rippling, banks overhung by dark vines that should have scared her. Miaka stripped down to her underwear, and then she stripped that off too.

If the air was freezing, the water was worse. She came up gasping and ice-cold, scrubbed at her arms and neck, dove back underwater to scrub her face. She felt as though she was trying to drag something dark and terrible forcibly out of herself, but it was clinging strongly. Not a demon, for that would have been almost bearable – but something worse, as though corruption was spreading through her like a cancer.

Suzaku no Miko, she thought, teeth chattering Miko of Suzaku, phoenix priestess of love and sunlight and all things beautiful – she did not kill – she did not torture. She had power, but her power was supposed to be pure and strong, like fire.

And still, what he had said was threading her mind like a burn, and she – dripping and naked, was not free of it, even as she dried herself on a blanket and yanked clothes over wet arms.

"Damn you, Nakago," she said, because it was easier to have someone to curse at than to have to curse at yourself, and the cloak did not warm her, though she buried her face in it.

Sometime during her journey the guilt had taken hold, eating her from the inside, burgeoning and growing until her rage became daily. She attacked without provocation, felt pride at the red aura that surrounded her, could not stand to hear the sound of Tamahome's name being spoken, even lightly.

She had asked Yui if she should murder Nakago – the person she had promised, for good or ill, to protect. She had filled a cave with a shield of red fire, ready to consume Nakago, to shrink down until he was crushed by it and he – lacking his seishi powers – could only have watched. Miaka – power-mad and furious – would have had another crime to complement her growing list –

"No!" she murmured, almost a moan. Her stomach churned, and she felt power being leeched from her as something slammed across her barrier in the cave, but she wouldn't let it go.

Gradually, the nausea eased. Miaka wished she could sleep again. If she could sleep, Yui would tell her she was not a murderess, for surely Yui had behaved as badly during her time in the book. Yui would tell her Nakago was manipulating her, and through Yui, Miaka's guilt would be assuaged. But Yui would not sleep again for weeks in book-time, and Miaka was not hopeful enough to think that Yui was reading the words her sorrows drew across the page of the book now.

Night breezes tumbled her wet hair and seemed to freeze the tears across her face.

Minutes passed – she knew not how many. In time, she became aware that a dark aura was approaching her steadily from the cover of the trees. She heard footsteps behind her but she did not move, even as he stalked closer. Then she felt the fingers on her shoulder, tightening, claiming her captive. In the cave, the red barrier still held.

"Are you alone, Suzaku no Miko?" said the voice of night and darkness, on the border between imagined and real. Miaka raised her face, saw brilliant stripes in the darkness, and almost smiled at the sight of her own destruction.

"Yes," she whispered.

"You are troubled," said Tomo silkily. She sensed demon within him and did not flinch from it.

"Give me your damn illusion and get it over with," Miaka said, and tired of charades, she pulled herself off the ground and took a step toward him. "I welcome it."

He bowed to her, a sarcastic offering. "Any requests?" he said, and his voice was mocking, but she wondered if some part of her worried him, because she had broken through his illusion once before. She was too exhausted for a fight.

"Make it interesting," said Miaka, tossing her pack down on the ground. "And _warm_."

"As you wish," said Tomo. He opened his hand.

And then there was light.

* * *

**Author's note: **And I'm back! Apologies to everyone who's had to reread the story to actually remember what was going on before I dropped off the face of the earth. Rest assured that you are not alone! (Not that I'm so scatterbrained that I would forget my own plot or anything *shifty eyes*) You know it's been a long time when you come back to find that the uploading portion of the site has suffered a complete makeover…

Yes, Nakago is a bit of a bastard in this chapter. But he also really doesn't like being powerless and a captive. So you have to wonder how much of what he said was just his response to being trapped in a bubble by a 16-year-old, slightly-deranged miko.

-v-

**Questions:**

**1) How big of a role does Hotohori play in this story?**

Medium-small but not insignificant. He'll appear later on in this section.

**2) Would Kaen try to kill Nakago?**

It's pretty hard to actually kill someone in cold blood. On the other hand, being presented with a situation where you could be indirectly responsible for someone's death is different.

**3) Would Suzaku be one to hold a grudge against his Miko?**

He's a pretty forgiving god, much more forgiving than certain others (cough, Seiryuu). But even gods have their limits. I'd say he'd be pretty mad/disappointed in Miaka if he wasn't too weak to do anything.

**4) What was up with that scene with Nakago and Miaka- "All she saw for a moment was blue, sky, and immeasurable distance: a lake beside which two figures stood" Is that a scene from the past? Something in Nakago's memory? When did they begin to mind meld?**

Yes it is the past. But since when did seeing into the past become the equivalent of mind melding? ^_^

**5) It's funny that you say "the ones who seemed honest and kind were always the villains." Does that mean the opposite applies as well? (To Nakago?)**

Well, I wouldn't exactly call Nakago honest and kind…

**6) How long has Miaka been in the book world? Now at least I know that it's been 20 days in the 'real' world but how long has it been for Miaka inside the book?**

Let's see, 2 months ago Tamahome died. And she was married to him for about 5-6 months. So it's been about… 8 months. A fairly long time.

**7) How is Miaka able to communicate with Yui? I thought Taiitsukun's strength was minimal at best.**

Perhaps it is a symptom of how sick the book-world has become…

**8) Nakago waking up scared the life out of me!**

I could say I was sorry, but instead I'll just chuckle evilly.

-v-

Some really good questions this time round! Thank you all for your feedback, and I apologize if most of my answers were frustratingly ambiguous…


	28. It can creep up inside you

**Author's Note:**

So before we begin this chapter, I have a nasty little confession to make.

I never actually read past book 13 of the manga. You know, the big finale part where Nakago dies and Tamahome and Miaka are victorious and then Miaka restores the world and toughens up and actually learns algebra or whatever she needs to know for her entrance exams and then discovers that Tamahome's been born in her world, and then everything ends all fluffy and nice with 'wo an ni's and sparkles.

The part that I HAVEN'T read is the part that comes after that, where Miaka has to save Tamahome in some weird way that I still don't fully understand, and Tenkou acts mean and nasty and makes various people unhappy.

I don't really have a very good excuse for this, except that there was a perfectly lovely grand finale in book 13, and the subsequent books seemed a little like a Disney sequel – somewhat tedious, with a plot that seemed contrived for the sole purpose of capitalizing on the success of the previous story. And, let's face it, Books 14 and onward were sadly devoid of Nakago (although I hear he does make a cameo at some point).

So why is this important? Because – having no idea what Tenkou actually is supposed to be like - I'm sure my Tenkou is going to be somewhat different from Watase's Tenkou – and I wanted to give all you readers out there fair warning.

That will be all.

* * *

…

**XXVIII**

**It can creep up inside you**

…

Miaka's last brush with one of Tomo's illusions had landed her in her geometry classroom in Tokyo among her friends and classmates. This illusion was of a different caliber. For one thing, she was in a bathtub. The bathtub was an oval white thing with a twentieth century look about it, and it was the light off the water that had blinded her on entry. But the enormous hall enclosing the bathtub had pre-Great Wall-era décor, and the clash of cultures was unnerving, even to someone so adept at changing worlds. Miaka did not appreciate the high ceilings or elegant tapestries, nor did she appreciate the fact that she was currently naked, though so many bubbles filled the tub that exposure was hardly a concern as long as she kept rather still.

She was certain that Tomo was sneering at her, or perhaps laughing outright.

"Warm," she muttered, "_Interesting_. Excellent, Yuuki, you've outdone yourself this time." The walls around her remained eerily silent. She glared at them coldly, as though daring them to speak. Surely Tomo was watching her now. "I never said humiliating!" she shouted to the unresponsive ceiling.

Bubbles drifted round her like sultry orbs. She clutched foam to her chest – a poor idea, for the bubbles burst tauntingly as she tried to compress them. Certainly by now her angry flush had spread all the way down her neck.

She tried to be more indignant. She wanted to continue to shout at Tomo, who was surely watching her above. But at some point during the night, a numb tiredness seemed to have taken up residence in her bones. It was difficult to concentrate and even more difficult to think. Had the bathwater not been so cold, it would have been an effort even to keep her eyes open.

Slowly she became aware that someone was approaching. Miaka stilled as the soft sound of footsteps on marble reached her ears.

"Miaka Yuuki," said the voice of the demon lord Tenkou, and Miaka forgot, in that moment, that this was an illusion. "Welcome to my hall."

She was glad for the warmth of the bath, for the air seemed to drop ten degrees in temperature. She could hear him step toward her, but he was behind her, and she did not dare raise herself up high enough to turn round. She sat stiffly, all too aware of the lack of bubbles at her back, as Tenkou came into view.

Miaka had seen Tenkou once before. He had appeared to her after Yui had tricked her into entering the shrine off the Kutou palace, long ago in the Shijintenchiso. Of that Tenkou, she remembered very little. She had an impression of dark eyes filled with malice, an incorporeal shadow so black, it seemed to suck in light from all around it.

This Tenkou was different. He had a body – a man's body, impossibly tall and pale. Thje vague shadow Miaka had seen at the Kutou shrine was nothing like this man. And yet, if Miaka looked closely, she could _almost _make out a blurring at the edges of Tenkou's outline, as though the Tenkou who was in front of her was as illusory as the deep black shadow in the shrine. What was he? She wondered. Flesh and blood or pure spirit, like the gods? Who_ was_ Tenkou?

His clothing was black, richly decorated. His long hair was also black, and it trailed down his back like a curtain. His belt was the only thing about him that was not quite consistent with his overall air of cultured evil. It seemed to hold all sorts of odds and ends – a small pouch, a piece of cloth, even what looked like half a mirror. And yet, perhaps these strange trinkets _weren't_ so out of place after all, for they seemed to lend a mysteriously sinister aspect to Tenkou's appearance

"It's nice to finally make your acquaintance," said Tenkou.

Something about the way he talked perturbed Miaka. She could not put her finger on why. It was like she was expecting his words to come out with one inflection and they surprised her by coming out a different way. But he was perfectly easy to understand.

"I can't exactly say the same." Miaka prided herself on the fact that she wasn't shaking, although she ought to be by rights.

"It grieves me to hear that, Miaka." She sensed a mocking layer beneath Tenkou's concern. "After all, I have been waiting for you."

"That's nice," she said, with a slight shrug that she hoped did not dislodge too many of the bubbles from her bathtub. There was such a horrible sense of wrongness to this scene that it took almost a feat of will to hold her chin up. With a wave of her hand, Miaka indicated the rapidly-vanishing soap suds. "If you're really intent on playing the part of the kind host, I don't suppose you could offer me a bathrobe?"

Tenkou laughed.

She did not see him move, but he was at her side and lifting her chin, forcing her to stare into his eyes which were cold and oval and night-black. There was something gripping about them, like an impossible-to-put-down book. Once captured, her gaze was locked with his, and she was rendered immobile. He brushed through her defenses as though they were cobwebs. If her voice had not been locked, she might have screamed.

"Not broken in spirit," he said, releasing her chin.

She jolted backward into the bathwater the second he released her, fighting to cover herself. "You have no right –" she began.

Tenkou smiled. A seat appeared near the bathtub and he settled down upon it.

"Perhaps you are hardly as much on my side as you should be," he said. "I can tell by how the very sight of me makes you recoil in horror. But you are insecure enough in your convictions, I think, to prove rather interesting."

"And what do you mean by that?" said Miaka. She did not understand; she was not on his side at all; she was trying to destroy him. And why did he think she _should_ be on his side? None of it made any sense; she was just so _tired_.

"I mean that you are not going to die at this moment, Miaka Yuuki," said Tenkou. "Your nature is sufficiently ambiguous that I haven't quite yet decided what to do with you."

"Ambiguous?"

Tenkou leaned back in the chair and folded his hands. "I refer in particular to your recent attacks on a Seiryuu seishi – a _former_ Seiryuu seishi I should say, since his god was conveniently sealed. Which was also your doing, I believe."

"I didn't _mean_ to attack Nakago," Miaka said, fighting to quell her rising disgust. "I never should have done it – I don't know _why_ I did it."

"Why do you feel remorse," said Tenkou, "when you had every justification for retaliation? It was not my intent to _pry_ of course – but Tomo happened to witness some of your discourse with our dear friend Nakago this evening."

Had Tomo been hiding near the entrance to the cave during her altercation with Nakago? Miaka wondered. How much had he seen? Miaka tried to clear her head, which was beginning to feel like it was stuffed full of cotton-balls. She blinked her eyes rapidly. "He shouldn't have been spying," she said, feeling stupid.

"But spying often proves so useful." Tenkou folded his hands in his lap. "You never answered my question, Miaka. Why do you feel remorse for attacking Nakago?"

The words seemed to be taking a very long journey from her ears to her brain. She had to repeat the question before she understood it, and when she was done, she still didn't have an answer.

"You have every reason to despise Nakago," Tenkou continued smoothly. "Nakago killed your seishi – corrupted your dear friend – almost destroyed your home."

He had – she knew he had done all those things, but… It came to her suddenly, why she should feel remorse for attacking Nakago. "I made a promise," she said. "I promised Soi I would keep Nakago safe."

"A promise made to a character from a book," said Tenkou calmly. "Soi wasn't even real. Neither is Nakago – is he, Miaka?"

Even in Miaka's near-stupefied state, something about that Tenkou's last statement jarred her as _wrong_.Miaka's brow pinched into a frown. _Focus!_ She thought, _concentrate, Yuuki!_

She drove her fingers into her palms. The pain seemed to bring her back a little, although she still felt almost as bad as she had that time in the forest, when she had tried to heal Nakago. "He isn't real –" she repeated, and then she said: "Well – no, he's a character in _The Universe of the Four Gods_, but_…_ How do you know anything about –"

"I may be trapped in Hell," said Tenkou, "But I do try to keep abreast of the goings-on above. Pudding?"

She did not know when, but sometime during their conversation, a table had appeared on her left, accompanied by a succulent feast. Miaka smelled chicken marsala and fillet mignon, and an aroma she thought might be crème brulé.

She wavered a moment. Oh, it was _tempting_; she had not eaten since dinner that night, and she had nearly suffered hypothermia since then. She was famished. Her hand rested on the edge of the bathtub. Slid back in.

"No thanks," she said, wishing she sounded more convincing. She stifled a yawn.

"As you will." Tenkou reached forward unremorsefully, plucked a chicken leg from the center of the table, and proceeded to down it with what (to Miaka) seemed quite an excess of slurps and smacked lips. She stared at the table, her stomach and the more intelligent parts of her mind becoming locked in a kind of ferocious stalemate. It did not help that the meal on the table smelled heavenly, like a fresh-served course at a fine French restaurant. A frown formed on her temple, as her credulity strained to accommodate the fact that Tenkou might know anything at all about French cooking.

Tenkou finished the chicken leg and proceeded to pluck an apple from the center of the table. Miaka felt her own resolve slipping. Each _crunch _seemed to make her body shudder. It was hard to have self-control when she was so tired, and she had shown such incredible self-control already. Perhaps just a tiny reward…

She leaned closer, arm extended. She was so close to the edge of the table – if only she could reach a little farther she might be able to snag just a chicken leg without losing the protective cover of bubbles which concealed her.

It happened without warning, as her fingers grasped for the table. A wave of nausea swept through her, and she gasped and clutched her stomach. She felt as though she had been struck, hard and furiously at her magical core. It jolted her. The barrier! She had completely forgotten it. It must still be up, surrounding Nakago – and Nakago must have struck at it –

Suddenly Miaka understood why she felt so tired. It was just like what had happened when she had overstrained her healing powers, that day in the forest. She should remove the barrier, or risk what had happened when she had overstrained before –

But she did not dare take the barrier down now. It was her link to the outside world, her insurance that she would not be trapped in this illusion. When Nakago had struck it, Miaka's mind had reset itself, like a computer on restart. She had been so caught up with sparring with Tenkou that she had almost forgotten about the real world outside. What if she took it down and then was lost in this illusion?

Her nausea intensified. Now she knew Nakago must be fighting to free himself. But why had she trapped him? She could hardly remember. She recalled Nakago's eyes as he stared at her through the barrier, and realized that masked within those eyes was fury – rage at being trapped under anyone else's control – particularly hers, a miko who only days ago had not been able to harness her power.

And she thought, staring at Tenkou's face, which was her prison, _How can I blame him?_

"Much better." Tenkou had finished the apple as well. He folded his arms and turned, once again, to look at Miaka. "To continue our conversation. These people you deal with are nothing, Suzaku no Miko. Nakago is not even your friend, and as for all the others… why do you worry for them, feel for them, cry for them? They are one-dimensional entities, creatures constructed solely for the warped amusement of their creator's mind."

For a second, he almost sounded like her brother Keisuke – _just a character in a book – _wasn't that what her brother said of Tamahome? But Tenkou was definitely not Keisuke.

"Haven't you forgotten," Miaka said, rousing herself, "that _you_ are a character in the same book as Tamahome or Nakago? In fact, you're probably the most one-dimensional person I've met in all my time in _The Universe of the Four Gods_!"

"But I am nobody's creation."

"Yes you are," said Miaka, suddenly uncertain. "You must be."

"Ah, how narrow-minded are the young." Tenkou picked up a plum and bit into it. Miaka watched in fascination as a line of juice trickled down his pale chin.

Miaka still didn't understand. It was beginning to annoy her. "Nakago worshipped you," she said sharply. "You were the god that appeared in that shrine at Kutou – if you really are a god. I don't know what to think anymore – and you think of him as nothing."

"Not nothing," said Tenkou. "Nakago was a most loyal servant to me – whenever it pleased him to be loyal, that is."

"Why did you actually bring me here?"

The question came out ruder than intended, for she really felt quite ill. Another shudder racked her from the barrier outside the illusion, and she hoped Tenkou had not noticed it.

"I thought I had made that quite plain to you, Miaka. I wanted to assess you and to determine your loyalties. You could be valuable to me as a warrior to champion my cause –" He smiled. "- or as an escort. I think you would find, Suzaku no miko, that we are much more alike than you would care to admit."

Miaka stiffened. "I think you would find," she said coldly, "that I disagree. Why don't you go back to hell where you belong, and leave me to my bath?"

To reinforce her point, she fired a ball of chi towards him. Even this small act drained her strength considerably, and she had to fight not to slump backward into the bathtub. Tenkou neutralized it easily with a hand, laughing.

"I have never left the underworld," Tenkou said, and before Miaka could even begin to process this, he said, "I look forward to the pleasure of your company. It should not be long before you join me. Our dear Tomo will bring you to me, and you will stay by my side - as my consort, perhaps. I think you will find that there are certain benefits which could make it worthwhile."

"I will never accompany you." Miaka tried to raise her chin, but she was starting to shiver so hard the gesture was barely noticeable.

"Dear dear, what _have_ you heard about my kingdom to make you hate it so?" He picked up a strawberry from the table but did not eat it. With calm disinterest he turned it over in his hands. "No doubt you've heard that just as only the pure of heart can enter Taiitsukun's kingdom, only a person with certain characteristics can enter mine."

"A black heart, you mean."

"That's how Taiitsukun would define it, I suppose. It's the kind of idea she enjoys: white and black, a perfect balance, so simple, so _straightforward_. Taiitsukun would say that the people who enter my realm are corrupted. Like so." Beneath his fingers, the strawberry darkened; a fur of mold grew upon it, and Miaka smelled the sweet odor of rot. Tenkou cast the remains of the strawberry over his shoulder and wiped his fingers on his cloak. "That is a lie, miko – just as it is a lie that Taiitsukun's realm admits only the pure. We admit those who we desire to admit. My kingdom admits those who have come to see the world as it really is, who are not afraid of their desires, however selfish. The people from my realm take the form of demons because the Taiitsukun and the gods control the world above, and that is what how she wills them to appear."

"You're lying," Miaka said, but her voice was not as strong as she wished it to be.

_In every lie_, Nuriko had told her once, _there is a hint of truth_.

Miaka shivered. She stared at Tenkou, watching him as though transfixed. The cold of the bathwater did not bother her now, though her hands were wrinkled with exposure.

"You, miko," Tenkou said, "have always seen the world through a lens of innocence – have always struggled against the very human desires of power and wealth – you have wanted to be a good person, _pure_. You have always been quite the loyal servant to Taiitsukun. This evening may have been the first time in your life that you ever verged on doing someone harm with malicious intent."

"I already told you," Miaka whispered. "I didn't _mean –_"

But she was nauseous again, and this time it was not due to Nakago's attacks on the barrier. Could it be true? Had the scale finally tipped – were her accumulated sins so great that she had gained entrance to Tenkou's kingdom by virtue of her actions that night? The memories from that night slammed through her again, Nakago's whispered poison, her potent fury. Still – she had not harmed him – she would never truly _hurt_ Nakago –

"Never?" Tenkou laughed, and she realized she had been speaking aloud. "You've wanted to hurt him for a long time now. A part of you liked the sight of him powerless in your cocoon of chi this evening. And he's still in your power; you haven't released the barrier…" He leaned in closer, uncomfortably close. "And what about those wishes you made, to seal away the gods?"

"No," she whispered. "All I wanted was a decent outcome –"

"A selfish outcome."

"A decent outcome," she said doggedly. But only grief had come of her wishes. Only grief had come out of all the decisions she had made. Tamahome – Tamahome would not have died if not for her –

"I think you'll find," Tenkou said quietly, "that you are more suited to the philosophy of my realm than you were ever suited to Taiitsukun's. I believe you might even find it quite liberating."

Miaka bit her lip.

"Now," said Tenkou softly, raising her chin with a finger. "You'll be a good little miko and not put up a fight when Tomo brings you to me, will you?"

She closed her eyes, but she could not keep out the feel of Tenkou's eyes on her, and the bile was rushing to her throat now. Darkness seemed to be closing in on her, creeping up to corrupt her and fill the spaces left empty by so many things gone wrong.

She drew in a struggling breath. She wanted to slap him, to spit in Tenkou's face, to shout. She was just so _tired… _

But she could not give in – just as a part of her had rebelled against death on the way to Kutou, something within her rebelled now. No one would control her – no one, and least of all this demon with black eyes and pretty, manipulative words – she was _tired_ of being manipulated.

She opened her eyes.

"Is this it?" she whispered. "Plying me with lies, trying to blacken Taiitsukun's name – is this really the worst you can do?"

-v-

_Is this really the worst you can do? _is a question that – as a rule – should never be asked of anyone. It is usually construed as a challenge, and even when the answer is 'yes', the affected party usually finds a way to make it 'no' with such force and vehemence as to make any right-minded individual soil his pants and run screaming for cover.

On the list of individuals who should not – under any circumstances – be asked this question, the lord of the underworld ranks quite high. Miaka, staring into the dark vacuum of Tenkou's gaze, would have regretted the question immediately, had she been capable of conscious thought at all.

* * *

**Author's note: **

Yes, Nakago is still trapped. We'll get back to him in the next chapter. The more you review, (hint, hint) the faster I'll update, and the sooner you'll learn what happens to him! The little blue button is your friend. (Unless, of course, you're studying for finals, in which case it probably isn't.)

-v-

**Q/A**

**1. Why do you always update during finals?**

Heh heh. Because I want to see you FAIL!

No, actually it's most likely due to the fact that I'm taking a year off between college and... further studies - and as a result, I'm not constrained by exams anymore! Not to rub it in or anything... ~_^

**2. What was the light? **

The light came from the _shin_, not from Nakago's powers.

**3. Why did Nakago refer to Miaka as the Seiryuu no miko?**

Because she's increasingly embodying characteristics that Seiryuu values – e.g. ruthlessness.

-v-

**Questions for you: **

1. Was this chapter too confusing, or possible to follow?

2. Theories on Tenkou?

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Is not mine. Is Watase's. Except for plot.


	29. And consume you

...

**XIX**

**And consume you**

...

Nakago regarded the red barrier that caged him with a mixture of disdain and incredulity. The miko was far away, certainly out of hearing range – he could barely sense the whisper of her signature chi. And yet her barrier remained as bright as ever, bathing his skin and surroundings in its iridescent glow.

He had begun his attack on the barrier as soon as the miko departed, striking it methodically and repeatedly at its weakest point: where the barrier met the ground. He had launched attack after attack upon the red shield that caged him, striking it with all the fury he harbored toward the miko. And yet, the barrier had held. It held in spite of Nakago's strongest physical attacks - attacks strong enough to kill a man. It refused to be pummeled into submission. Nakago's knuckles would be swollen by morning, yet the barrier continued to veil Nakago's surroundings in a shimmering red haze. Perhaps it should not have surprised him that such a strong barrier came so easily too the miko; she had been producing shields in her sleep years before their impromptu lessons of the previous week.

Powerlessness – captivity – Nakago despised them both. In two separate lives, he had been the Kutou Emperor's pet – slave of body, if not mind. _A pretty child_, that was what the Emperor had called him. _What a beautiful child, what a lovely boy…_

That pretty little child existed no longer; a machine of destruction had taken its place. As warrior, Nakago-Ayuru had fought to be best, to become conqueror, rather than captive. He had cocooned himself in self-discipline until he became strong, strong enough to master the power that was the key to avenging his tribe – that he might never again be helpless or at loss –

And here he was, rendered captive by the miko he had sought to train. The irony of his situation was not lost on him. Had she not been so pathetically helpless, so lacking in self-control that she endangered everyone around her, he would never have tried to guide her in the use of her powers. But training her had been to his benefit, regardless of whether he gave the miko to Tenkou or succeeded in helping her summon the gods. The miko would be more valuable to Tenkou with her powers developed, and less dangerous to Nakago once she learned self-control. And if he did help the miko to summon the gods, having a grasp on her skills would help her become slightly less of a walking disaster.

And he had enjoyed baiting the miko, poking holes in her composure to see what she could accomplish when pushed to the limits of her abilities. Later on, it had amused him to flaunt the skills she had obtained before her Suzaku seishi. But the miko was still volatile, too guided by emotion to be reliable. That afternoon, when she had singed him, had been proof – his captivity now was further evidence. Specters clung to the miko like mold on a fruit – memories, deaths, the darkness of guilt. He wondered which bit into her deepest – the guilt of betraying her god, or the guilt of Tamahome's death. The latter, he was certain. She had not been forthcoming about the details of the boy's death. He ought to learn, ought to pry deeper. That guilt was the key – the key to breaking the miko completely, a key that he might be able to hand over to Tenkou – should he choose to.

_Should _ he choose to?

_Could_ the miko succeed on her quest? Everything – all of his planning – reduced to this question. Some days she moved and acted like a woman in tatters, so close to breaking that a breath of wind would cause her to crumble. Her guilt had gnawed away at her from the inside, making her exquisitely vulnerable.

And yet, she was strong. He felt an almost reluctant respect for her resilience. Barely two weeks had passed since he had found her in the woods, but the miko who had trapped him this evening bore almost no resemblance to the miko of that night, near to death and welcoming it. In the Shijintenchisho, her courage and defiance had surprised him. In this world, she was still defiant, still unafraid to stare death in the face, still almost recklessly courageous when it suited her.

It was this mixture - this fusion of terrible guilt and self-hatred with reckless courage - that made her unpredictable. She was dangerous, almost unstable – he could fully admit that some of his actions had destabilized her further. He doubted anyone knew what she truly wanted, her least of all. In the Shijintenchisho, she had been driven by a desire to help Hong-Nan, to save Yui from his clutches, to live in happiness with her sickeningly devoted Tamahome. Her motivations now were less clear. She made this journey now because she had to, more for relief from guilt than because her end goal gave her any significant joy. She wanted to save her seishi, to protect them – but she had already failed to save the seishi she loved most. How soon would she give up, if presented with an easier path? Given the option of returning home or finishing her quest, he could not help but wonder what she would choose.

And yet… it was not by mistake that he had called her the Seiryuu no miko that evening. Seiryuu valued courage and ruthlessness. He was a god of war, and in war the ones who survived were those who did what was needed in the face of great cost. He had seen flashes of that sentiment in the miko, but never more than he had that evening. Trapping him to protect the Hong-nan Emperor had been misguided, it was true – he had no designs (at least currently) on her precious Saheitei's life. But her determination had been real.

Such ruthlessness could be taken to extremes. _He knew._ Inflicting anguish on another, seeing your own turmoil reflected in that person's eyes – such feelings were addictive and could easily spiral out of control. The miko could fall into this trap. She would _be_ Tenkou's creature then, and Nakago would have carried out Tenkou's orders exactly.

So that was what it came down to: guilt would destroy her, or she would master her guilt. Odd, but he felt a mild regret at the thought of the corruption of the miko's character. He felt nothing for her. She angered him as often as she amused him; had she not been so critical to his own survival, he would not have cared if she lived or died. But watching her step down the path into darkness would be like soaking a flower in a tub of blood until the stain was so deeply absorbed in the petals that it could never be rinsed away. He remembered her eyes – at once strong and vulnerable and defiant – as she glared at him through the red of her barrier. She had called him stupid to his face, had trapped him and made wild accusations on his motives to his face – and yet he could not forget the disgust, the horror on her features as he had talked to her of torture – She was like a child still, so easily to read, so easily hurt –

He slammed his fist into the place where the barrier met the bottom of the cave again. There – he had glimpsed it, if briefly – hairline fractures winking into existence across the barrier like fault lines after an earthquake.

The miko was a mess of fractures, too – fractured, so close to breaking. She was not broken – not yet – not quite – but she _would_ break, if she continued on her quest. The question was, would she be resilient enough to gather the pieces of herself together before summoning the gods?

The cave was red and white, a mix of barrier-glow and moonlight. Nakago gathered his strength and readied himself for another attack. Then he paused.

Beyond the play of dappled moonbeams on cave wall, a malevolent force drew steadily closer. Nakago sensed dual chi signatures, one that he easily recognized as Tomo's, and a second that was undeniably demon.

Nakago's eyes drifted across the glowing red shield to the cave beyond. He debated allowing the barrier to remain in place; such a structure, he knew, could protect as well as contain. Yet a weak barrier could serve neither function, and he sensed that this one was finally nearing the end of its life. As Nakago lashed out again, the fracture lines he had seen on his last attack burst into life and then dissipated again across the surface of the globe that encased him. He felt the elastic wall of chi shudder with that attack. Soon the miko would be drawing on her core reserves to help her maintain the barrier.

Evil was at the mouth of the cave now. Nakago saw Tomo's mask of paint block out the streams of moonlight. He let drop the palm that had been preparing to slam into the barrier for the twelfth time and leaned back, his face sanguine.

"This is unexpected," said Tomo, stopping on the threshold. His eyes gleamed with delight. The white stripes on his face stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face. In one hand he held a clamshell that Nakago recognized.

In the Shijintenchisho, Tomo had been ambitious and ruthless, dramatic and pitiful. He had been one of the strongest of the Seiryuu seishi, but also one of the weakest and easiest to control. Abandoned as a child, Tomo had desired much – glory, fame, Nakago's approval – and Nakago had played off this latter desire ruthlessly. Now it seemed Tomo had found a new master whose approval he desired more than Nakago's.

"Unexpected and unwelcome," he said flatly.

Ayuru had met this world's Tomo only once, many years ago, and he doubted the actor even remembered it. Ragun had been barely more than a skinny boy then, a member of the traveling acting troupe that had visited the Kutou palace; he had lacked the black-and-gold mask he wore now.

"Such a greeting!" said Tomo. "Are you not glad to see me, Nakago?"

"I cannot say your presence brings me pleasure," Nakago said impassively. "Your demon should learn to conceal its signature better. It is far too obvious who your master is now, Tomo."

If Tomo was put off by Nakago's answer, his painted mask concealed all indication of it. His eyes glittered red for a moment – though whether the cause was demonic displeasure or the simple reflection of Miaka's red barrier was impossible to assess. "Why bother concealing his presence when you would already suspect it?" Tomo said lazily. "I find that having a demon offers such advantages. Success is made so much easier when one can rely on his seishi abilities, do you not agree, Nakago?"

Nakago said nothing. The reinstatement of Tomo's powers could only bode ill for him. Nakago could conceive of only two reasons for Tomo's presence, and both displeased him.

Tomo shrugged and glanced at the _shin_ in his hands.

"It is impressive that the Suzaku no Miko can continue her barrier when she is outside of the physical realm," he said. "Of course, if your powers were intact, you would have no difficulty shattering it. Do you want to know of the illusion I have granted Miaka?"

"I am surprised you are not attending to it more closely," said Nakago. "If I recall, your distraction during your last attempt to trap her in an illusion precipitated your downfall."

"Tenkou is handling her. I congratulate you, Nakago, on her transformation. Less than two weeks since you left Kutou, and she has managed to capture you as effectively as if she had bound you in shackles. She may yet be worthy of becoming Tenkou's consort." Tomo smiled. "Do you wish to know why I am here, Nakago?"

In Tomo's hand appeared a clamshell, and he tossed it to the floor with a flourish that was all theatrics and grace. "I will tell you," said Tomo. "But first, a brief intermission! Something that may amuse you. You _will _be amused, won't you, Nakago, to witness the final defilement of the miko you tried so hard to corrupt?"

A heavy silence fell over the three of them: shogun, actor, and demon. The red of the miko's barrier cast a faint haze between Nakago and the clamshell on the cave floor.

"I thought so," said Tomo, and he opened the clamshell.

-v-

"Miaka."

The water clung to her bare skin, bubbles almost gone. Hardly daring to breathe, Miaka kept her eyes firmly fixed to the edge of the bathtub.

"Do you not recognize me?" Soft and hurt, Tamahome's voice crossed the distance between them. Miaka had to search hard to pick out the mocking undertone that was the essence of Tenkou. "Miaka?"

She glanced up quickly and looked away. "It's a good likeness," she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. "You forgot the eyes though. Tamahome's eyes were always _warm_."

The water was almost frigid, and as she exhaled she saw a cloud of white. Some of the water's surface was bare of foam now. Miaka leaned forward, noting absently that light from her face was not reflected upon the water's calm surface.

"Even as you killed me?" the demon with Tamahome's face murmured, sliding a hand across Miaka's shoulder.

"I didn't," she said, but her protest was only reflex, words without meaning. She could feel herself falling deeper into Tenkou's clutches. Her shudder, when he touched her, was only half repulsion. It ought to have frightened her, that she was so close to falling into Tenkou's trap, but she was so _tired_…

Miaka felt something cold and wet slide down her cheek. Numbly she brushed the tear away, but another rose to her eyes to follow it.

"Come here, Miaka," said Tamahome, concerned. "I forgive you. Don't cry – please don't cry."

He brushed away the tear with a finger. Miaka choked back a sob. How easy it would be to slide into this illusion. Tamahome's hand on her face felt real. His arm on her shoulder felt real and warm. She wanted him to be real – wanted it so desperately that every part of her trembled –

Tamahome reached forward to wrap her into an embrace. "You've been so brave," he whispered. "Everything's going to be all right now, Miaka. I'll protect you."

Miaka inhaled and smelled the distinct, sharp scent of pine, Tamahome's smell. A perfect illusion – if it really was an illusion –

She squeezed her eyes shut, as she fought to find the will to struggle, to pull herself away.

Really, was there a point anymore? Resistance meant endless pain, and Miaka was tired of pain. Every step she took seemed to land her deeper in guilt, and someday she would reach the limit of what she could bear. Like a mule with a load of brick, her spine would snap, and there would be no one standing by to piece her back together. Better to give up now, die and cease fighting. She was exhausted with fighting. The burden of protecting the parts of her that were still bright and unsullied and pure filled her with a terrible tiredness – and yet they still retreated, the darkness taking firmer hold with each breath. Perhaps there was no point pretending she _could_ protect herself. Had not Tenkou said she was perfectly suited to his realm when they had just talked?

Perhaps she had already failed.

As though this admission had shattered a part of her will that she did not even know she was exercising, Miaka rose. A distant part of her sang that this was wrong, but her body seemed to move of its own volition, and she had lost the strength to fight anymore. Her head tilted back, and she accepted Tenkou's kiss with placid blankness.

-v-

"Now," said Tomo, turning away from the clamshell with something like a smirk, "the intermission is complete and we may talk business."

Nakago regarded Tomo's mask coolly. Some paint had smudged around the places where black met gold. "What business is there to discuss?" he asked.

"From the mouth of the all-knowing seishi of Seiryuu!" said Tomo, and he laughed, though the laughter was mostly demonic. "You disappoint me – though I suppose this was not a part of your Plan, and so you cannot be held fully responsible for you ignorance.

"The business I am here to discuss is the business of your death… or your survival. Yes, it is a shame! I had so hoped to keep this a pleasant visit, but alas – we must speak instead of dark topics. For you see, you have a choice, dear Nakago. You have very admirably contributed to the corruption of the Suzaku no Miko. And yet, Tenkou still doubts your loyalty. And so, Tenkou is offering you a choice."

He eyed the barrier speculatively.

"I have only ever been a loyal servant of Tenkou," Nakago said impassively. "What cause has he to mistrust me?"

"He doubts your loyalty," Tomo the demon said coldly. "He knows of the time you spent on Mount Taikyoku after your death. Your refusal to host a demon displeased him; your lack of seishi powers renders you… _weak..._"

"He could see to the reinstatement of my abilities," Nakago said, just as coldly.

"When he is freed of the underworld, yes," said Tomo the demon. "But _now_ is when your powers would be of greatest help to him." Tomo steepled his fingers together. "This is the choice you have, Nakago! Permit a demon entry to your flesh – and regain your seishi powers, as I have."

Nakago's eyes narrowed. Was Tenkou's control over this realm really so limited? If Tomo was to be believed, then until Tenkou escaped the underworld, the demon lord lacked the ability to reinstate Nakago's seishi powers – unless Nakago allowed one of Tenkou's demons to inhabit his body. Nakago's lip curled.

"And if I were to refuse this… generous offer?" he asked.

"In that case, you will remain helpless by your own choice… and suffer for it."

Tomo the demon eyed Nakago greedily.

So it had come, the choice that was hardly a choice at all. Nakago's eyes trailed lazily across the red barrier that shielded him, eyes traveling to the drama within the clamshell. Silently, Nakago regarded the miniature form of the miko. The miko's eyes were blank, and she moved mechanically. Nakago doubted she felt anything now, not the touch of the dark thing that sought to consume the remaining light within her spirit, nor the icy cold water that lapped at her legs. Like a weakling she had retreated within herself, succumbing to the darkness of Tomo's illusion and Tenkou's evil.

And yet her barrier remained.

Tomo's eyes had turned suddenly thoughtful, and Nakago sensed, for a moment, the demon receding. "How little difference there is between us, Nakago!" Tomo whispered. "Pasts steeped in darkness and hate! Save that you had a mother and I did not, we are practically kindred spirits, and it would grieve me to have to take your life. It would grieve me indeed, for we were almost allies those years past in Kutou. The darkness in our hearts –"

Nakago watched with detached interest as the red flare in Tomo's eyes sprang to life once more. "The darkness," he said. "It is this darkness that ensures I would not cry at your death. I have not yet decided on the manner of your death – should you choose wrongly –" (The red flare receded once more). "– but it may be peaceful. I can be merciful when I choose. For a fellow seishi, I might be persuaded… Illusion, yes… I granted such deaths to only two in my time as seishi. The first, a man of Hong-Nan origin…"

Tomo talked, as was his one true pleasure, and because Nakago could not prevent the actor's discourse, he allowed Tomo the enjoyment of it. But he would not be Tomo's audience, and his face bore an expression of cold boredom.

The still-open clamshell drew his eyes. The bubbles had almost vanished in the bath that lay in miniature on the floor of the cave. Still the miko's eyes were blank – and yet, her barrier was as strong as before. Did she maintain it unknowing? No doubt the effort it took to keep it strong was already drawing upon her life force – and the idiot miko, blissfully unaware, might well die from energy loss before Tenkou ever had a chance to corrupt her.

Nakago felt anger then. She truly was weak, he thought – so easily tempted by even the image of Tamahome. Perhaps she deserved to be taken in by Tenkou. What use was she if she hadn't even the strength of will to see past the demon's illusion? He should let Tenkou overpower her, let her fall into this trap.

But even as he contemplated this, he found himself going more coldly furious. What right did she have to be happy as Tenkou's consort – for surely she _would_ be happy – at least think herself happy – for the rest of her life. Until Tenkou grew weary of her and decided to dispose of her, she would live as a brainwashed little fool, trapped in a pleasant stupor while she did Tenkou's bidding.

She did not deserve such a pleasant and painless fate.

_She_ had brought him back to life through _her _wish on Suzaku; _she_ had forced him to return to the mortal realms to confront his past and his failures and his choices. She deserved the pain of reality, of having to see her quest through to the end.

Nakago raised his palm so it was just hovering above the red glow that encased him. Slowly, he lowered his hand until it was touching the barrier. It stung when his hand connected, like a shock from a blanket on a dry day, but then there was only a soft tingle against his palm, humming and powerful and not entirely unpleasant.

Inside the clamshell, Miaka gasped and opened her eyes.

* * *

**Le grand author's note:**

Mwa ha ha – more drama! I actually had a lot of fun with this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. We finally get some long-awaited insights into how Nakago sees Miaka.

Thanks to Helena, Nile1283, Desert Renaissance, and megumisakura for your reviews! Clearly they were effective, considering that it took me less than a week to update. Good luck with finals (or congratulations on finishing already)!

Next chapter: The battle continues, and Miaka learns an unpleasant truth.

-v-

**Q/A:**

**So, in this story, does Tenkou have as much power in his realm as Taaitsukun has in hers? And speaking of realm, is the underworld that Tenkou oversees like an exact opposite of the book world Lady T is in charge of?**

Taiitsukun has direct control over Mt Taikyoku, and she also oversees the book world. As I see it, Tenkou is trapped/bound into an underworld that's sort of like the evil equivalent of Mt. Taikyoku (in terms of size). His world is not the exact opposite (there aren't, for instance, 4 demon lords to oppose the 4 gods…). So Taiitsukun lives on Mt Taikyoku but is free to wander the book world; Tenkou is currently bound to the underworld and unable to venture into the book world.

**So, I was confused by a few little things in this chapter. Like, the water being cold in one sentence then warm in another? Was that due to the mixing reality/Tomo's vision, or your own error? Also, Tenkou ate an apple, then finished a plum. Ambiguous fruits just one modicum of evil?**

My bad – that was definitely an editing error. I completely changed this chapter around before posting (a couple times actually) because I wasn't happy with the way it was originally, and I guess a couple fruits got transfigured in the process. ~_^ It will be fixed.

**In the last chapter, Miaka answered Tenkou's questions pretty readily...**

Maintaining the barrier is really draining most of her strength (even though she's doing it pretty much unconsciously) – which is one of the reasons why she is so exhausted. She's having a lot of trouble forming coherent thoughts, much less analyzing the consequences of giving Tenkou too much information before the words escape her mouth.

**Who/what is Tenkou?**

You'll find out at around the same time as Miaka does!

**Is this a religious allegory? **

No one actually asked me this directly, but I thought I might as well clarify anyway, since I can imagine this coming up at some point. To quote Tolkien, "I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations." ^_^ It is really not my intent to turn this into anything religious (I'm not even particularly religious myself).

-v-

**Questions for you:**

Did Miaka give in too easily?

Is my version of Tomo over-the-top?


	30. A disease of the mind

...

**XXX**

**A disease of the mind**

...

"Tamahome?" said Miaka.

Her mind felt jumbled, foggy, and confused. She did not know where she was or how she had gotten there. All she knew was that she had felt something _pulling _on her just now, a strange, uncomfortable kind of tug that seemed to yank at her from the region of her navel. Bewildered, Miaka stared into the eyes of the man who held her, the man who was strangely like and unlike Tamahome.

"It was nothing," he murmured. "We are together again, aren't we? That's all that matters."

"Yes…"

But a tingling feeling of wrongness was mounting. There were things, desperately important things, that Miaka sensed she needed to remember. A battle and a demon lord, and a pale-haired man trapped in a red shield…

"I don't think it was nothing," said Miaka, lowering her chin to hide her confusion. Why couldn't she remember anything? What had happened to her in the last hour, in the last day? Had she died, and was this the afterlife? She felt fear mounting inside her. At the same time, a deep tiredness suffused her body, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes again and rest her head against Tamahome's shoulder. And yet –

_There_, she felt it again – as if someone was touching her, but inside – brushing a part of her that no one _should_ touch. Miaka's eyes flew wide open.

Nakago had pressed a second hand to her barrier.

"It was nothing," Tamahome repeated, more forcefully than before, and he pulled Miaka forward to crush her in a gentle kiss.

"No," she said, pushing him away, "I don't believe you!" There was something desperately important, some reason she should not believe him. What _was_ it? "I need a moment," she said, trying to back up. "I'm sorry – I don't understand – I think something's wrong – please…"

Her chest heaved with confusion. _Everything_ about this encounter was wrong. "Where am I?" she said loudly. The bathwater was freezing.

-v-

In the cave beyond the shell, the moon was setting, and it was nearing the coldest hour of morning. Tomo was describing a man who had grievously insulted him when he was a young boy touring Sairou. He was telling Nakago how his Shijintenchisho self had tracked down this man and destroyed him. Nakago was listening with half an ear. The better part of his attention was focused on Miaka's barrier. Like a soap bubble near the end of its life, the structure was waning. By now it was almost invisible – a subtle, quickly-fading red haze before Nakago's vision. He traced a figure eight upon the barrier with his finger, saw Miaka flinch visibly within the clamshell. As if in response, the red shield seemed to shiver under his touch. Cracks and fissures were beginning to form across its surface.

"Interesting," said Nakago.

"I do agree," said Tomo. "The insult, the subsequent hunt and murder, all illustrative of the growing darkness within a man's soul in the pursuit of justice – poetic, hmm?"

Nakago saw the miko place both hands on Tenkou's chest and attempt to push him away. Coolly, Nakago allowed his fingers trail down the flickering wall of the barrier, watched her gasp again and shudder deeply. A hint of a smile flashed across Nakago's lips.

So she had chosen to fight after all. Perhaps she was not entirely hopeless. Still, she was terribly weak. What remained of the barrier now was drawn from the miko's inner reserves – her life force – the chi that she required to stay alive. That was why Nakago's touch had affected her so dramatically. That also meant that if she maintained the barrier much longer, she would soon be either comatose or dead.

There was only one thing to be done. Nakago's fingers curled into a fist. With a sharp punch, he smashed what remained of the barrier out of existence.

Miaka's scream, strident and piercing, was lost upon the men in the cave, who were acting out their own drama. Tomo, who seemed to have come close to forgetting Nakago's existence, paused abruptly in his monologue. But Nakago was faster.

In a fluid movement, he swept his sword off the ground. As Nakago, he had always had his powers to fall back on; but the Ayuru of this world had had no powers, and it was Ayuru's abilities that served him best now. He lunged forward, but Tomo had vanished.

The sound of Tomo's laughter surrounded him. Nakago rotated, attempting to pinpoint the source of the sound, which echoed eerily throughout the cave.

"Oh dear. Oh my, but this _is _priceless. Tenkou said that you were growing overly sentimental when it came to the miko." Tomo gave a disbelieving laugh. "I did not actually believe that you would _choose_ her."

Sentimental? How absurd. It was not sentiment that had moved him to make this choice now. It was simply a matter of convenience. The thought of being under a demon's control filled him with disgust. There was no turning back now; he had made his choice. Strange how it didn't even bother him. Nakago allowed a malicious smile to spread across his features. He could see Tomo's shadow now, towards the back of the cave. "Is that what you believe, Tomo? That I have grown sentimental?" He paused and lifted his sword, inching forward. "I assure you," he said, blue eyes glittering, "_Your _demise will grieve me not at all."

-v-

Miaka knew where she was now. She felt as though she had been punched hard in the chest and the blow had somehow caused a wandering piece of her mind to settle back into place. It was like the faulty VCR that sat next to her sofa at home – you had to smack it a few times to bring it to life.

"Get away from me!" she shouted to the man whose arms were around her like a vise, and she punched and kicked and squirmed to be free. Somehow she ended up submerged; icy water filled her nose and eyes and she inhaled and choked. She felt herself pulled up by her hair, stared for a moment into Tenkou's bottomless eyes, and then kicked him sharply in the groin.

He may have been the lord of the underworld, but he was still male, and he let her go with a movement that belied his surprise. She scrambled backward, forgetting her nakedness, and she jumped out of the bathtub and placed it between them. She should have run – should have searched madly for an escape – but how does one escape an illusory hall with no exits?

A few twigs, a leaf, and a flower floated in the rippling water of the bathtub. Miaka reached up to touch the hair which trailed in cold, wet tendrils across her shoulders. In her mad scramble and fall earlier that night, pieces of bracken must have caught in her hair and tangled, and her bath in the lake had not got them all out.

She reached forward, and before Tenkou could stop her, the flower was resting supine in her palm. The flower was star-shaped, white in the center and blue at the tips of its five long petals. Even the touch of it soothed her. She felt suddenly calm. Re-energized.

In the silence that followed, Miaka stared across the pool at Tenkou, and Tenkou regarded her unmoving. The ghost of a smile sprang to life across Miaka's lips.

And as Tenkou started forward, Miaka pressed the flower petals between her fingers as she had seen Mitsukake do when he was healing her. At once, a sweet scent filled the room, heady and unyielding; it seemed to clear the air, and the water's surface was almost shining. Tenkou cried out, his face twisting into a snarl of rage and disgust. The expression was so terrible on Tamahome's mouth that Miaka wondered how she could ever have mistaken Tenkou for her dead husband.

"So it really is just an illusion," Miaka said. "All of it."

The water in the bath did not show Tenkou's reflection either, she realized – nor did it show the reflection of the leaves and twigs that still lay upon it. How strange – the surface of the water was shining, and other things were appearing like mirages, flitting in and out of focus on the water's surface: the dark edges of a cave wall, with moonlight streaming down upon two figures struggling for dominance: one dark and one pale, but the way the ripples tore up the scene told her the cave was not _in_ the pool but _reflected_. Miaka looked up and there was ceiling, but it seemed strange, shimmering, ephemeral –

"No," said Tenkou, reaching forward, but he was too late, too late to stop Miaka's arm as she reached forward and grabbed the nearest hard object – a bar of soap - and she threw her arm back and with all her might she tossed it at the ceiling –

– _through_ the ceiling –

– which dissolved as though it had never been, taking the hall and the bathtub and Tenkou with it. She felt her body rise up, as though suspended; droplets of water still clinging to her hair and neck.

Tenkou's eyes were the last to vanish, and even after they vanished she could still hear him, a cold laugh and promise, dragging out across the matrix of space and time.

"We shall meet again, Suzaku no Miko."

-v-

Miaka tumbled to the floor of the cave. For a moment she lay supine on the uneven cave floor, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the near-darkness. The hall she had just left had been brightly lit. The cavern was not.

She had just enough time to register that she was no longer naked, when she felt vines snake around her arms and legs. She tried to kick, but the ropes had already ensnared her legs in a grip so tight they almost cut off circulation. As if from a great distance, she heard Tomo's voice, full of laughter and malice:

"Drop your weapon, Nakago, or she dies. I do not think that her death is a part of your plan, now that Tenkou has renounced you – is it, my friend? You will only regain your power by summoning the four gods – and for that, you require your dear miko, alive."

Miaka felt something sharp and thorn-like press against her throat. Her breath quickened in her chest.

"As I understand it, Tenkou wishes her brought back to him alive as well," she heard Nakago say lazily. "How will you explain her death to him?"

"He would _prefer_ her alive, of course," said Tomo. "It would make victory sweeter. But I do not think that he would grieve overmuch if I was forced to kill her out of necessity... Drop your weapon, Nakago. I will not kill either of you just yet. Was it not you who taught me the value of toying with my prey? I knew we were kindred spirits."

Miaka knew should protest, or struggle, or try to defend herself, but she was too worn out to do more than whimper. So she did, knowing it would reinforce Tomo's impression of her helplessness. Feigning limpness was trivial; even lifting her head was an effort at this moment. She could feel herself recovering at a rapid pace – the lanxing, by some miracle, seemed to be bringing her strength back – but she was still exhausted. She would regain her strength in a few minutes, but until that moment, Tomo must suspect nothing.

She thought Nakago suspected, from the way his eyes glanced briefly to her – but of course, he could sense chi. He would know she was gathering her strength. She saw his eyes flicker toward her, for the briefest of moments. Then he lowered his weapon to the floor with a fluid movement.

"Good," said Tomo, clapping his hands together cheerfully. "Now we shall play. Let's try a game of history, shall we? I have learned of Nakago's past already – and it is a sad story, steeped in hate and death and tragedy. But what of the Ayuru of this world? What sorts of intriguing horrors are in _his_ past?"

Miaka looked up. Despite the trauma she had suffered that evening, she found herself touched by a dreadful curiosity. She recalled the night she had spent in Soi's company, when Soi had told her Nakago's life story in painful and disturbing detail. Now she wondered: What sorts of experiences _had_ the Ayuru of this world suffered? How different had his experiences been from Nakago of the Shijintenchisho? Kaen and Soi were counterparts, but they were completely different people. Was the same true of Ayuru and Nakago?

"Unearth as you wish," said Nakago. He seemed almost bored.

Miaka's eyes were drawn inexorably toward the clamshell. A lake had materialized in the clamshell's interior. Though the grass on the lake shore bent and rippled in the breeze, the surface of the water was calm and flat as glass. Watching the scene, Miaka was racked by an unsettling sense of déjà vu.

A man and a woman stood by the lake. The man had dark hair and was garbed like a shogun. Miaka saw him reach into the lake and retrieve a small shell, which he presented to the woman. The woman had pale hair, like wheat before a harvest, and soft blue eyes overflowing with love. Blue blossoms wreathed her hair, trailing down her back like a makeshift veil. Her hands, though callused, were graceful. Miaka had never seen a more beautiful woman. She was quite sure she was looking at Ayuru's mother. _Matuta_, she thought. _Soi called her Matuta in the Shijintenchisho. _

The shell fell open in the man's hands, and two pearls were revealed, as blue as the cloudless sky. Miaka watched as Ayuru's father tucked the one of the pearls into Matuta's hand. Then he kissed her and departed, leaving Matuta alone by the side of the lake.

"How interesting," Tomo said.

"What's interesting?" said Miaka, because Tomo seemed to be expecting someone to make this query, and she saw no harm distracting him with it. She could guess the identities of the man and woman; found the scene of parting strange, almost tragic, like a garden whose fruit had been plucked before ripening.

"Why, the similarities between Ayuru's and Nakago's past. But of course you know nothing of _that_."

Miaka opened her mouth to offer an indignant retort, then thought better of it. Her eyes were drawn to the shell's next offering – a decidedly grimmer scene. Soldiers pounded on the door of the small house where Ayuru and his mother lived, breaking it open. Ayuru's mother was shouting at Ayuru to hide upstairs with urgent terror. Then the soldiers were inside and Ayuru's mother was surrounded. The soldiers seized child-Ayuru, too. They tore off Matuta's clothes and had their way with her, and Ayuru was _there_, watching all of it.

Miaka had stopped watching at the point where the soldiers seized Matuta. She couldn't look at the scene, and she was equally unable to look Nakago, so she closed her eyes. But she couldn't ignore the sounds of screaming. She wanted desperately to hurl.

She opened her eyes again a few minutes later. Fighting down disgust, she watched as the soldiers dragged a half-dead Matuta to her feet, and marched both her and Ayuru out of the house. They were joined by other captives – a motley group of Hin women and children. They were forced to march in a ragged line. One of them, a blonde girl around Ayuru's age, seemed on the verge of collapse. She clung to Matuta desperately, and Miaka saw blood on her arms and clothes.

In the next scene, Matuta was dying, her thin frame racked with fever. She coughed and coughed as they marched. At the end of the night, when the prisoners huddled in a makeshift camp, Ayuru and the blonde girl fussed over her. She died that night, but the soldiers did not even give the children leave to bury her. They left her body at the deserted campsite. Others died the next day, either from sickness or from suicide, and by the time the entourage reached a place Miaka recognized as Kutou, only Ayuru and the blonde girl were standing. And then the whole scene shifted, and Ayuru and the girl were being presented to the Emperor of Kutou.

-v-

Ayuru remembered, of course. Details of that day were branded into his mind, and he did not need to watch the _shin_ to remind himself of what had happened. The stench of unwashed soldiers had filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. A window had been opened to disperse the smell, and the air stung his face, which was raw with scrubbing. His wrists chafed and bled in their binds. The captain of the Kutou army yanked him and Taria before the Emperor, shoving to the ground so that they knelt on the cold, hard stone of the throne room before the whole court. The courtiers' laughter had been derisive and cruel.

"The last of the Hin, Your Highness. All the others are dead. What should we do with the brats?"

Ayuru and Talia had shivered and clung to each other, but the soldiers had torn them apart. Ayuru remembered the Emperor, the whole bulky mass of him, rising up out of his chair and circling the two captives slowly. Ayuru had stared ahead, silent and compliant; Talia had been more defiant. She had resisted when the Emperor grabbed her by the chin, and yelled "Stop it!" when the Emperor ran his fingers through Ayuru's hair. Ayuru had wanted to tell her that she was only making things worse for herself, but he knew Taria wouldn't listen anyway.

"Such pretty children," said the Emperor. "A fitting prize for our victory." His right hand grasped a fistful of Taria's hair and then yanked her head backward until she gasped with pain. "I will enjoy teaching them manners… Particularly this one."

A blur of memories after that, memories he had tried so hard to forget. Long nights, and numbness, and the slow breaking of Taria's spirit. And then –

And then a voice, breaking into Ayuru's thoughts: the voice of a miko, displeased.

"What of _your_ past, Tomo? Have you no respect for privacy?"

-v-

With each passing image Miaka's sickness had intensified, to the point where her insides were boiling with rage and fury and nausea. The sight of Tomo's eyes dancing with glee as he drank in Ayuru's torment only sickened Miaka further. She had seen the same look on Keisuke's face when he regarded a particularly delightful TV episode; but this was not Wednesday night television – this was _real_. Tomo reveled in picking apart a person's diary and laughing at the worst, most private moments of his life. He was sick; he was cruel; his mind was warped and corrupt and diseased. If Miaka squinted, she thought she could see the shadow in him through the blackness of the face-paint, the demon that had latched its teeth deep into his heart.

"She defends you!" Tomo laughed and laughed and laughed, and while the tears of mirth streamed from his eyes, he clicked shut his clamshell. "You've trained her well, Nakago. How priceless this is!"

"I don't see anything strange about it," said Miaka coolly.

"Well of course not," said Tomo the demon. "Your stark obliviousness is most amusing of all." He strode toward Miaka, placed a finger beneath her chin, and forced her to meet his eyes. "Months ago, Lord Tenkou charged your dear Nakago with the task of breaking and corrupting you. And you never for a moment suspected that Nakago might be working for the enemy. You played into his hands perfectly, just as Lord Tenkou hoped."

"That's a lie!" she said reflexively. "I know better than to believe anything that comes out of your mouth."

But the seed of doubt had found its way beneath her skin and was sprouting. Its thin stem was slowly pushing its way toward the sunlight, and it could not be squashed once more into dormancy. And Nakago was not speaking. He wore a cold and focused expression as he regarded Tomo, and he did not spare a glance for Miaka. But why should he? Tomo was the enemy. Nakago had to watch him closely, to look for an opening. How silly she was being!

"Nakago isn't working for Tenkou," she said sharply. "He's helping me to complete my mission so that he can recover his seishi powers from Seiryuu."

"How naïve you are," said Tomo. He smiled cruelly into her furious face. "Tenkou approached Nakago with the task the day you left Kutou. Nakago did an excellent job of taking you in. Ironic that you should suspect nothing, when your friend Yui was manipulated in precisely the same way. But you see, little girls are so gullible."

Miaka drew in a sharp breath. The ropes that bound her dug sharply into her chest and arms. For a moment, she said nothing. What do you say to a man who has confirmed the doubt that has been in your mind all along?

Nakago, standing cold and at ease at the back of the cave. He could have denied the accusation and he had not; he could just as easily have complemented her on her stupidity for not realizing sooner, yet he had not done that either. His eyes were sweeping up, brushing past her, and it happened: they touched for a moment in the darkness, not physically but eyes on eyes – blue to brown, ice to fire. Miaka did not jump; did not blink; it was over as soon as it began, this metaphysical touch-but-not, and she had no chance to react – no reason _to_ react – and yet her skin tingled long after Nakago had looked away. It was not desire the encounter evoked, not humiliation or desperation or sadness. She had to dig deep to put a word to it. When she found one, she wanted to toss it away, for it could not be right, either.

Familiarity. Perhaps closer to déjà vu. It was so laughable that she almost cried. To Miaka, understanding Nakago was like understanding a computer, a fiendishly complicated, coldly logical, ruthless, heartless machine. She had given up on understanding Nakago; she would _never_ understand him, not as long as she lived. But understanding is not the same as _knowing_. Knowing is abstraction, the fundamental belief that you can rely on a computer to show the letters "xyz" as you type them. Understanding is different – a deeper comprehension of the electrical wires, the bits that are altered, the changes that are propagated through the system to make the letters "xyz" appear upon the is knowing _why_.

She did not _understand_ Nakago, but she had _known_ him since he had brushed her life force with his hand earlier that evening and pulled her from Tenkou's grasp. She had known him before that, in the five seconds he had stood immobile on a battlefield with a bleeding woman draped in his arms like limp cloth, the first time in memory that _she_ had been forced to give orders to _Nakago._ She had known him since Soi had spilled her heart on the floor of a cave much like this one.

And as she opened her eyes again a vision filled them – an image of a cloudless day, of a lake around which feet tread but made no impression, eternal, forever preserved in the imprint of time. Cruelty born of beauty, beauty in cruelty. Nakago, on the edge of many things, child of love, servant of hate. Could the lake still exist, as blue and perfect as it had been on the day that Ayuru's father and mother had made their promise? Miaka felt suddenly tranquil, like a blue flower adrift in a pool, unsure of her final landing place but trusting to the laws of physics and buoyancy and density to keep her afloat. She raised her head and a smile traced her lips, at once triumphant and sparking and brilliant and calm.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

* * *

**Author's note: **I did it! I updated! Do I get a cookie?

-v-

**Questions:**

**1. Will Tasuki and the others show up in the capitol to help Miaka? **

Yes. (Wow, that was easy!)

**2. And what will Nakago do to poor Miaka for what she did to him?**

Ehh, I think he has other things on his mind at the moment than revenge.

**3. Will Nakago's touch remind Miaka of her promise to protect?**

Well, it certainly woke her up.

**4. I'm dying to find out more about the connection which you hinted as once Nakago touched the barrier with his palm. Did Miaka's alarms go off because of it? Was there a connection? I wonder how? along with who?what?when?where?**

Miaka had almost used up all her magic and she was drawing on her last reserves – her life force – in order to keep the barrier up. That's why she was so tired (similar to the time she almost put herself in a coma trying to heal Nakago). That's also why Nakago touching her chi shield was able to wake her up - because at the time, the chi shield was being drawn from the energy that was being used to keep her alive.

**5. I wish though you had elaborated more on Nakago's feelings after watching Miaka in the shin.**

Feelings? FEELINGS? Heehee. "Nakago's feelings" is not quite an oxymoron right now, but… he still has a bit of a ways to go before he recovers from Emotional Block Of Ice Syndrome. But fear not, we should be seeing more from Nakago's POV in coming chapters! And there are some lighthearted/fun chapters on the way as well. It's been pretty dark and heavy so far. I think the chapter moods thus far have pretty much reflected Miaka's internal state, although I didn't originally intend it to be that way. But slowly but surely, she's recovering from the pain of Tamahome's death. This fight might be considered a turning point. The next turning point will be when we discover how Tamahome died.

I should probably stop giving away key plot points now…

Oh, and on a wholly unrelated note, expect a lot of updates from this point on. Somehow I've gotten it into my head that it would be fantastically appropriate to finish this story on the day it began, 03/23. This may be a stupid idea, because my current projection is approximately 60 chapters, and I've posted just a little over half of that. But I have 53 chapters _written_ so far. (I've just been reluctant to post these, because this story has an intricate enough plot that I'm always worried I'll forget to mention something and then have to go back and revise a chapter). So, we'll see how this goes!


	31. It can control you

...

**XXXI**

**It can control you**

...

There was silence in the cave. Miaka pursed her lips. The demon in Tomo was staring at Nakago with the look of an artist who has seen the subject of his future piece de resistance, and Nakago wore the mask of cool impatience that was starting to irk her, and nobody had heard what she said, so this time Miaka spoke louder, projecting her voice across the cave like a teacher in a classroom full of dullards.

"_It doesn't matter_," she said, and Tomo, who had been quietly planning the execution of the most terrible murder of his career – his masterpiece – was this time forced to acknowledge her interruption. It did not please him.

"What do you mean, silly girl?"

Miaka meant exactly what she said, though her certainty surprised Tomo and Nakago and even her. Its source was of origins as mysterious as the blue flower whose perfume still laced her fingers. It was not a choice she made, for there was no element of decision in the matter. She was not driven by pity, or charity, or guilt. _It does not matter_ was simply a statement from her lips to the gods, an acknowledgement of sudden realization that had appeared before her with shocking clarity. Miaka was fundamentally a creature of instinct, and her insight now was born of instinct, more than reason. Nakago was not the villain, and what Nakago had done did not matter. End of story.

But she could not just say this to Tomo. Having deep insights is all very well, but the words "I just know" sound absurd when you speak them. Miaka frowned and said slowly:

"Even if Nakago was working for Tenkou once, your attempt to kill him suggests that he isn't anymore. Why would Tenkou reward a faithful servant with death?"

Even as she spoke the words, she realized that they must be true. This emboldened her. She glared into Tomo's eyes defiantly and would have crossed her arms had they not been bound at her side by vines. "Therefore," she continued, "what you said doesn't matter. Nakago's not serving Tenkou, and I won't let you kill him."

-v-

Surprise was a near-foreign emotion for Nakago. He prided himself on his almost intuitive grasp of potential outcomes, on being prepared for every possible eventuality. Astonishment was not an emotion that he allowed himself to feel often.

And yet, here he was, taken aback by the simple words of the Suzaku no miko. His eyes glittered angrily. Was the miko a fool? So weak, so easily trusting that she could forgive a person who Fate had just revealed as her enemy? There was a pleasing sort of logic to that assumption. Except, every time he tried to make that view of her mesh with the actions he had seen tonight, Nakago came up short. Because, try as he might to categorize her as naïve, gullible, and silly, one fact was irrefutable:

The miko was _not_ a fool.

She was irrational, at times suicidally reckless, and still utterly lacking in control. Stubborn she was in plenty, and her bullheaded obduracy was only outmatched by her capacity for resentment. She despised him, and her animosity had made their journey unpleasant, irritating, infuriating. Any chance, any excuse to think badly of him – the miko would latch onto it like a leech latches onto its prey. He was absolutely certain she relished the opportunity to think the worst of him. Each new piece of evidence seemed to confirm her darkest suspicions, and Nakago could not be bothered to correct her misconceptions. (If anything, her delusions about his intentions toward Saihetei had amused him. As if he had nothing more important up his sleeve than plotting the death of the Emperor of Hong-Nan!)

But just now, she had managed to look beyond her hatred, beyond the mountains of resentment and suspicion that had shrouded their every interaction of the past two weeks. Somehow her loathing of him had, for a moment, ceased to control her. And in that moment, she had _defended _him.

Perhaps she pitied him for what she had seen in the _shin_. Nakago smiled mirthlessly as this thought came to him. He desired neither pity nor compassion, and any person who thought to pity _him_ was presumptuous and naive. If that was how she saw him, she would soon see the error of her ways; he would see to it, with relish.

But she had not regarded him with pity. Her eyes – he glanced toward them now – were determined and frank, but there was no trace of pity in her expression.

It was as though some part of his understanding of the world was shifting, as though his mental filing cabinets were being grudgingly, painfully reshuffled. Nakago did not like it at all, but once he had taken the first steps toward recalculating the miko's character, he could not go back to viewing her as a fool. He was too honest not to admit to himself that he might have misjudged her – just a little –

He felt something welling toward the surface as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. It was reluctant and grudging, and he couldn't put a name to it, but he knew that it would infuriate him when he did. How dare she force him, against his will, against all reason, to feel –

To feel what?

Respect?

Even as he found the word, he knew it was true – and what was more, he knew this was not the first time he had been forced to treat the Suzaku no Miko with something other than condescension. He had felt a glimmer of respect for her on the cliffs above Souen, when he had watched the miko struggle to tame her powers against unthinkable odds.

With the heightened attentiveness that came with this unwanted realization, Nakago watched the miko glare into Tomo's eyes with a kind of reckless defiance. He could sense her exhaustion. She had reached the end of her strength twice over that night, and yet she was still fighting. That gave him pause. He was still powerless to do anything, with the miko a captive.

In the dark, their eyes met. He looked away quickly, expression unreasonable. He sensed that the miko was quietly gathering strength – could feel a subtle shift in her _chi_ that signaled that she was up to something. Tomo, of course, did not notice. Tomo was laughing – a disbelieving laugh, a laugh born of scorn and cruel amusement. Nakago's lip began to curl. _What a fool._

"You won't _let_ me kill him? _You_ won't _let_ me kill him?" Tomo was not even looking at the miko anymore; his laughter echoed against the walls of the cave. "You can't even free yourself!"

Nakago saw the miko close her eyes on his laughter. He felt her gathering strength. Chi began to glow around her, a red flame bright enough to burn away everything that surrounded it. She was still exhausted (though something – lanxing perhaps? – must have replenished her powers a little), and it seemed to be taking all her will to perform the task. As he watched, a barrier of red expanded around her like a brilliant red curtain, dissolving the ropes and thorns that sought to contain her. Tomo's laughter stopped abruptly, but Nakago was already taking advantage of his opponent's distraction to lift his blade off the ground. The miko's newfound freedom meant that he now had the freedom to attack Tomo without fear of repercussion. Nakago swept his blade forward.

At the last moment, Tomo vanished – but not for long. A second later, Nakago found himself surrounded by five identical figures, all with Tomo's gleaming eyes and painted mask. Five Tomos – four illusory, one real.

Nakago had been anticipating such a move. It was the sort of thing Tomo was fond of, illusions of self, delusions of grandeur. This fight was preferable to an illusory clamshell battle, for the key to victory was simple: the true Tomo must be determined and killed. He would be the one holding back, letting his illusions battle for him, and Nakago would need to draw him out. Simplicity in theory is complexity in practice, but Nakago was no stranger to poor odds.

He struck, ducked, defended. Vines appeared, straining towards him; with mechanical ruthlessness he sliced them through, and more appeared, still more. The mirror images that faced him were painted and glaring and giddy with power, but the real Tomo would reveal himself; Nakago would see to that.

Real Tomo would not be in the center. He was enamored with symmetry, in love with order and beauty and art, but Tomo was not entirely a fool, and only a fool would remain in a position so obvious, so precarious as the center. No; he would be on the sides, left or right. Nakago's eyes narrowed, as they did when he was using his other sense, the one he used to sense the innate energy of another – this sense was harder to fool than his vision.

"Not so easy!" The words came from all five mouths moving in concert. As if gauging his scrutiny, the illusions and Tomo picked up speed, shifting position in constant fluid motion so that he could barely keep ahead of their movements.

But this action proved to be a mistake, for though his illusions shifted with inhuman agility, Tomo himself was too solid to vanish and reappear at will. His movements were rapid, but not impossible to follow, and Nakago sensed Tomo's chi now, though the demon had tried to mask it. The chi of the real Tomo was shifting, darker, stronger than the chi of his creations, for the real Tomo housed two souls in one body, demon and man. The real Tomo remained almost stationary, as his copies circled and shifted with ease.

Nakago feinted to the right, but the fake Tomos followed his movements. A sword sliced towards him - illusory, but still sharp. Nakago dropped back and rolled, avoiding vines by mere inches before coming to his feet at the place where real-Tomo should have been. At the last moment, the real Tomo leapt out of range and illusions took his place. Nakago swept his sword up, blocking another illusory strike. He knew better than to waste strength attempting to kill or disarm the illusions. A fatal wound to these illusions had no effect; they were heartless and bloodless, puppets only.

He felt chi building up to an attack on the other side of the cave – weak in signature, for the miko had reached the end of her strength time and again that night – but significant. He could feel how she hesitated, afraid to strike him on accident; he could have told her how painfully easy it was to avoid her attacks when one was prepared for it (the shoulder-wound one week past had been a fluke of nature) but he lacked energy to spare from fighting.

-v-

Miaka had seen plenty of sword-fights during her time in the book. She knew nothing of technique, or proper form, or any of the traditional measures of prowess, but she could recognize beauty and style and art when she saw it. Warriors, she had found, fought to match their personalities. Tamahome fought with strength and the exuberance of one who knows with absolute certainty what he is fighting for; Hotohori's fighting held all the grace and magnificence and honor of emperors. Nakago's fighting neither passionate nor touched by flamboyance; nor was it honorable; but nonetheless it gave Miaka pause, for there was a dangerous beauty about it that mesmerized, like the stripes of a tiger as it glides through savanna undergrowth, or the glinting scales of an undulating sea-snake. Nakago's every move was calculated precision; he watched, waited, acted, cleaved, all with a detached ruthlessness that unnerved her. Though he lacked his powers, Nakago moved fluid ease that was almost inhuman, an ease that – had Miaka known anything at all – could have told her just how many years he had trained, and under which masters. As it was, Miaka was left to wonder. She realized Soi had never told her how Nakago became Kutou's shogun.

_Focus, _she thought. She wanted to help Nakago, but everything was moving so fast! Any attack was as likely to hit Nakago as Tomo, and Nakago had no powers to protect him.

Perhaps Nakago sensed that she would not attack until he was out of danger. She saw him shift, re-positioning himself so that Miaka would have a clean shot at the dark forms he battled. She gathered her chi and struck, expelling power with a cry of fury. To her dismay, the attack was rebuffed before it even reached the fighters in their corner, dissipating like ocean-water against a cliff. She slumped to the ground, exhausted by even this minor exertion, as laughter filled the air around her.

"You'll have to be faster than that, miko." The words seemed to come from all five mouths at once; even attempting to pinpoint the source of the sound from among the melee was futile.

Furious, Miaka picked up a rock from the floor and lobbed it at the nearest image of Tomo, hardly caring if the rock hit its target. Nakago, in the midst of catching an attack on his blade, cast her a cold glance that was almost scornful, but she was too annoyed for it to have much effect.

Her hand reached for another rock, but met a smooth object instead, and without thinking, Miaka picked it up. A glance told her it was the clam-shell Tomo had used to show them the past of this-world's Ayuru. It was closed now, and it fit itself perfectly in her palm. She traced its smooth, smooth surface with a finger and then wedged her nails between the crevices; she did not need to pry it open for it parted like a smoothly-hinged door. She flicked the lid back and stared down into the belly of the clam-shell, where Ayuru's past was still playing like a filmstrip.

For a moment, Miaka regarded the scene within, fascinated, unable to tear her eyes away. Her eyes narrowed disbelievingly, and she peered inside, as though not quite believing the story her senses told her. Then she opened the shell wider and turned it around. She had to clear her throat a couple times to catch Tomo's attention. When at last she did, he barely spared her a glance.

"Do you think to trap me with my own _shin_, miko?" Five mouths asked the question at once, in tones that were almost amused.

"No," said Miaka, "I don't think I need to."

She held the clam-shell at arm's length, raising it up so that Tomo – wherever he was – could see it. None of the Tomos were looking, of course; they were focused on Nakago's destruction. Miaka narrowed her eyes impatiently and ground out:

"_Look_."

"Some other time, perhaps. When Nakago is dead and we are on the way to Tenkou's palace. Do you not see that I am occupied? Your attempts to distract me will not spare Nakago's life, Suzaku no miko."

Miaka drew a breath of air in through her nose. She let it out through her mouth. Then, to Tomo's great surprise, Miaka smiled at him. The smile made Tomo twitch a little. There was an undercurrent to the smile that brought to mind one of his worst nightmares: ravening hordes of girls trying to seduce him. Mad female fans clamoring for autographs, giddy, hormonal, and rabid.

The illusory-Tomos did not help his cause; they parroted the twitch, so that it was magnified five-fold. The movement was like an earthquake spreading from an epicenter. Miaka saw it. Her smile broadened; she was practically showing teeth. "Your loss," she said, returning her gaze to the clam-shell. "You were an _adorable_ teenager."

-v-

A theater had been set up in the royal palace. The performance had finished, and its main actors – old, skilled performers, fine and polished – were headed to bed. The young man, in his teenage years but still something of a child, was given the task of cleaning up the stage; his role had been a supporting one only, and he was too young to gain favors or royalties. Ragun was his name, not Ragun _of_ anything, just Ragun.

He had only half-finished mopping stage when _they _appeared – the fanatical horde of palace females that Ragun had grown to dread during his palace stays. They were serving maids and laundresses, all close to his age, and all (from what he could tell) absurdly, embarrassingly silly. They made him feel uncomfortable, worried and edgy, the way a colt gets before bolting.

The other men of the troupe called him a fool. They seemed to enjoy the attention of the horde that followed them: girls with long eyelashes and painted lips, conniving, grasping, and chattering. Though he looked old for his years, Ragun was at the age where he was just starting to understand sexuality. There was a difference about him of which he was only starting to grow aware, a difference which troubled him and made the girls by the stage seem all the more unsettling.

He kept his eyes to the floor to avoid the young women's' glances, but his ears couldn't avoid their chatter. He sensed them coming closer and redoubled the intensity of his mopping.

_Whisper, whisper, whisper. _It was enough to drive him mad. "What do you want?" he asked desperately.

Another flurry of chatter and giggling. One of the girls was nudged forward; she stood, twisting her hands in front of her and blushing. "My friends and I j-just wanted to know if you would –"

She stopped abruptly. The others ceased their chattering as well. They stared across the hall, toward the entrance way, where a door had just opened. Ragun followed their gaze and saw a young man step in. He was tall and fair of hair, with blue eyes that were almost dazzling.

"I want to talk to Ragun," said this figure with the golden hair. He was on the verge of adulthood himself but still in that liminal state between child and man. Like Ragun, he seemed old for his years. Ragun noticed a cold self-sufficiency about him that could only be gained from ill-treatment at the hands of another. "I hope you will leave us alone."

They shot him cold glares and he returned these with interest; their eyes grew frightened, and they hurried off.

"What silly creatures," said the tall boy coldly. "Although I suppose that you can hardly blame them for hoping that someone outside the palace will suddenly take an interest in them and carry them away from this place."

"Why did you want to speak to me?" said Ragun, suddenly shy. He did not say thank you, though he inwardly slumped with relief at the departure of the giggling women. "What do you want?"

"You're one of the people who came to perform," said Ayuru. "I saw you tonight. And I've seen you before I think, when your troupe came to the palace last summer. You can act."

Ragun flushed, trying not to look pleased; this was possibly the most praise he had ever been given from someone who was not a serving-maid. "Thank you," he said.

"You will do something for me," said Ayuru, brushing aside the thanks like water. "I know you can do this, because you are an actor, and that means you are good at fooling people. I want you to do the greatest acting of your career thus far. I think you are the only one who can help me. You will be rewarded."

But Ragun had stopped listening after _you are the only one who can help me. _He had never been _needed_ before, his help had never been required beyond the menial tasks required of him by the older and wiser actors of the troupe. It did not matter that the one offering such praise was his own age, if not younger, for he spoke with authority. Ragun's heart beat faster.

"What is it?" said Ragun, almost in a whisper, because he sensed now that what they spoke of was a secret. He was good at keeping secrets; it was how he stayed alive.

"There is a girl," said Ayuru, and, seeing Ragun's recoil, he looked away. "Her name is Taria, and she is of no danger to you. She is hurt, and she needs to leave the palace. You will hide her in your cart when you leave, bring her as far as the next town, and help her find work. She can sew and do housework – but not any other kind of work. I will pay you," Ayuru said again. "Amply. Will you do it?"

His voice was not pleading, not desperate, but intent, his eyes so serious and sharp that Ragun could only open his mouth. Danger was forgotten, money beyond consideration – they did not matter, only _you are the only one who can help me_ – and the word sprang forth, by his own volition, eager, the whisper penetrating the darkness around them:

"Yes."

-v-

The dialogue echoed throughout the cavern, like the words of an old song, newly rediscovered. Miaka watched the scene avidly, eyes fixed to the shell, but Ragun did not watch; he did not need to watch; he _remembered_. The memory welled up as though from some hidden recess in his mind, a secret chamber, long forgotten. The suicide of the girl, a day before the proposed rescue, was immaterial. The fact that this-world's Ragun had not seen Ayuru for nigh on ten years did not matter either. Ragun, eyes widening, could think only of the desperate task Ayuru had entrusted to him, and those words, words which at the time had meant everything:

_You are the only one who can help me._

Even as the realization struck him, he felt pain, terrible and vivid. Nakago, in Tomo's moment of hesitation, had rolled forward, past the fading illusions, past the miko and her shell. He had struck the killing blow that Tomo felt now, and Ragun, unperturbed, accepted this with a calm sense of justice, as though a great debt that had weighed on his conscience had finally been repaid.

-v-

The demon had fled Tomo's body the moment he felt Nakago's killing blow. He spiraled formlessly, a cloud of evil at the roof of the cave. He was powerful enough to mask his chi, and he did so now, as he pondered a question that often troubles both living and dead: where to go next? Tenkou's realm was not an option; having tasted this world, the demon had no wish to return. From the top of the cave, he took stock of the bodies that were his two options: the warrior and the girl.

His first instinct was to head for the warrior. That man had seen bloodshed enough that some would already term him corrupt. But his shell was icy, almost impenetrable, and there was something in his eyes that hinted at an iron will within. He would not be easy to possess. The demon reconsidered.

The girl was weak, her powers all but spent with fighting. She had fought much more powerful beings than he already tonight, but the effort had drained her. She was weak with fighting; it would be a simple matter to turn her to his will. She was purer than the warrior, but at the moment, that mattered little to him. She would be his body.

-v-

Tomo's lips were moving. His eyes were no longer tinged with red. That must mean that the demon had escaped, but Nakago neither saw nor felt his presence now. Nakago was confident in his own ability to drive the demon away should it attempt to possess him, so for the moment, the demon did not trouble him.

Tomo's chest and stomach were crimson with blood. Nakago had intended the blow to be a fatal one. It had been a necessary death, a death _made_ necessary by Tomo intervening in matters that did not, ultimately, concern him. Tomo should never have gone near Tenkou to begin with. But Tomo had always misjudged his abilities. He believed his greatest strengths to be cleverness and strength of will, and that had always made him vulnerable.

"Forgive me," Tomo said.

Nakago did not remove the sword from its resting place between Tomo's ribs, did not move to utter words of forgiveness or absolution. Such words would have been meaningless, for Nakago did not forgive.

Tomo sensed this and was not troubled by it. Words came, whispered, from his lips – broken but with a clarity that crossed the space between him and the pale cold seishi of Seiryuu. "You always were… stronger. It is fitting, thus. You will summon Seiryuu… regain your powers. Turning against you was never truly… my intent."

Tomo's admission of failure seemed to trouble the actor little against the backdrop of death. Expectantly, he watched Nakago. He seemed to hover on the verge of this world and the next, waiting, as though for assent or acknowledgement.

"It is understood," said Nakago finally.

Tomo's face relaxed, and it was almost with peace that he lowered his chin to his chest, the position of death. But then Nakago saw his visage change, morphing to an expression of narrow-eyed urgency.

"Behind you," he whispered.

A last offering.

Nakago snatched the sword from Tomo's corpse in a fluid motion and whirled, but the warning came too late. The chi that had been masked until this moment spiked in a heady flare of triumph, as Miaka buried Tomo's dropped blade ten inches deep into Nakago's side.

* * *

**Author's note: **Yeaaahhh! Another update. And not just an update, but a cliffhanger! A cliffhanger involving a serious, potentially life-threatening injury!

Thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter - _Helena_ and _Nile1283_ and _tohru78_ and _megumisakura_ and_ Desert Renaissance_! You guys rock!

Out of curiosity, is anyone having trouble following the alternate universe Ayuru storyline? If so, perhaps this will clarify:

Shijintenchisho Nakago, the one Miaka fought in the book, has the storyline described in Seiran Den (he killed his mother by mistake, was taken to Kutou alone, was abused by the Emperor, and killed Taria by NOT using his powers when the Emperor tried to force him to do so).

Ayuru of this new world had no powers, so he didn't kill his mother (she died on the road to Kutou). Ayuru and Taria were taken to Kutou, and after some time, he tried to help Taria escape, with Ragun (this world's Tomo)'s help.

And now, onto the actual Q/A…

-v-

**Questions from you:**

**1. Is Miaka actually standing up for Nakago?**

Yes!

**2. Is the last line going to change the whole chemistry/equation between them from now on?**

Yes.

**3. I think one of them would have to lower their pride sooner or later for this relationship to go somewhere.**

…Yes.

**4. 60 CHAPTERS?**

HELL YEAH!

(Man, that was the easiest Q/A ever ^_^)

-v-

**Questions for you:**

1. Did the stuff with Ragun's past in this chapter make sense? Was anyone thoroughly confused?

2. What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?


	32. Too close for comfort

…

**XXXII **

**Too close for comfort**

…

Someone was yelling, and Miaka thought it might just be her.

She did not, as a rule, like having other things in her head. This demon felt like a spider, clawing into her brain with long, thin legs. Miaka did not like spiders.

Then there was the fact that she had just stabbed Nakago through the side, and that the wound looked like the kind of wound that might be fatal, but she couldn't tell because a hazy darkness seemed to be obstructing her vision and a kind of giddy dark triumph filling her mind, the sort of exhilaration a bank robber might feel after a particularly lucrative hold-up, except Miaka had never robbed a bank in her life.

She screamed, "GET OUT!" and with all the force she could muster she slammed the extra presence out of her mind the way you would slam the door on a particularly rabid traveling salesman. There was laughter, and then a dark shape appeared at the edge of her vision.

Nakago, somehow still standing, sliced the air swiftly with his blade, just as Miaka swiveled and let loose a puff of red fire from the palm of her hand. The demon vanished.

"Is it gone?" said Miaka, cringing at the way her voice quavered and dipped. She could not feel the demon's presence anywhere, but Nakago was the one who was good at sensing these things – and Nakago had just joined the ranks of the may-or-may-not-be-mortally-wounded –

"Oh," said Miaka. "Oh my god." Then she said, very calmly and slowly, "You'd better lie down, I just put a sword through your stomach."

She was surprised when he obeyed her. It frightened her. There was sweat on his face, despite the cold air, and his skin was pale, and there was blood. On the ground, vermillion mixed with the earlier splashes belonging to Tomo. Miaka wanted desperately to be sick.

She pulled out the first cloth item in her bag, which happened to be a skirt. Tearing it into pieces turned out to be more a challenge than she had first thought it, but she managed.

"The demon has returned to Tenkou's realm," said Nakago. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was not labored, not yet. "It cannot… survive in the real world for long… without a host…"

"That's good news," said Miaka, pressing down on the wound. Perhaps being in a situation near to this one three days earlier had somehow numbed the terror of this moment. She was tense, but not shaking. Her earlier desire to panic had been overtaken by a kind of bluntly philosophical state. It would all be all right somehow, or it wouldn't, but panicking would make matters exponentially worse. Ergo she would not panic. But he bled more than Soi, and her hands, on the other side of the cloth that she held to his wound, soon grew wet with it.

"You should not be aiding the enemy, Suzaku no Miko." He uttered her name like a curse. "It is a recipe for trouble."

"Don't be stupid." She kept her eyes fixed on the cloth she was using to staunch the blood seeping from his side so she would not have to look at his face, but of course this meant that she could only study his wound, or close her eyes, which didn't do any good since she could still see the wound against the back of her eyelids when she closed them, thick and red and gushing. "He tried to kill you, too."

"The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, miko."

"I _know_ that!" she snapped, pressing on the wound with more force than was necessary. "Don't think I don't know that by now, because I do, and don't you dare die, all right? You need to live because you owe me!"

"What do I owe to you… Suzaku no Miko?"

"An explanation, for starters. And a hell of an apology."

She was finding it harder and harder to remain calm. Nakago was losing blood, and she was trying to help him, trying to stop him from dying as she had tried to save Soi's life only four days earlier. But this was so much worse than Soi, for if he died the sole and total fault would fall to her – for her earlier stupidity that evening, for allowing herself to be caught, for throwing away her precious chi on a barrier that accomplished nothing.

She needed help. She needed the scepter of Kutou, which was lying by the water of the lake where she had dropped it earlier, half an hour's walk from where she was now. Useless. In the end, when it really mattered, Miaka was only useless.

"Are you _crying_, miko?"

She did not speak, simply pressed her blood-splattered sleeve to her eyes for a moment. Then she turned her eyes back to the wound. She had recovered a little since her time in the _shin, _but not much. She poured her power into the wound, more and more, as much as she dared, but what chi she could put towards the wound seemed to be doing nothing –

"Do not bother," Nakago said, closing his eyes. "That form of transfer… will be… ineffectual."

"Then what form of transfer –"

Miaka caught the rest of the question against her teeth. In spite of everything, she was still able to blush dully.

"You have a sick mind, you know that?" she said, but she was not sure whether she was talking to Nakago or herself. She thought she saw the corners of his mouth lift up slightly – _The perverted bastard!_ – but his eyes were closed, and Miaka suddenly wondered if she had imagined it. Perhaps he had not even heard her. He was practically motionless, his breathing deepening, and his skin – she had never seen it paler –

"Don't go to sleep!" she cried. "Dammit, _no!_"

His lips moved, but she could not discern their meaning. An icy fear seized her. Blood was soaking the cloth that she held. The suggestion – Bochuu-Jutsu- hung in the air around them. It was so repulsive, so _wrong_, it sent a shudder coursing through Miaka's thin frame. Once rooted, it would not leave her alone – tenuous like the worst kind of weed. The act itself was not what repulsed her, for her marriage to Tamahome had seen to it that she was not a stranger to sex. But the thought of _this_ – a desperate, last-resort bloodstained measure to save the life of her former enemy – how could it not make the bile rush to her throat?

She felt wet blood beneath her fingers and abruptly replaced the cloth she was holding with a new one. It came to her then, on a memory, of a boy with a flute who had healed her, when she was sick and ailing. She could not perform what Nakago had suggested – doubted that such an act would even be possible, now – but perhaps there was another way –

But she was tired. She had reached the limits of her power time and again tonight. The sheer effort involved in simply keeping Nakago alive was causing her limbs to shake. Hopelessness reached out to swallow her up. Miaka resisted, forced herself to keep fighting, but she could not help but think of the last time she had overstrained herself trying to heal Nakago, how she had spent a full day asleep – and Mitsukake told her she had gotten off _lightly _–

And Nakago hadn't thought she could heal him tonight. He had practically given her permission to abandon him. What was it he had said? _The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend…_

"What a s-stupid thing to say," she muttered. She could not give up now. The thought of sitting back and watching as Nakago's blood pooled out on the floor of the cave filled her with horror. Which meant that she had to keep trying, even if it meant her own life. "You're _not_ my enemy," she whispered, "and I _won't_ let you die."

Even as she spoke the words, Miaka felt something brush against her senses. It was the briefest of touches, so fleeting and ephemeral that Miaka wondered if it was merely a fancy, a daydream brought about by the strength of her panic. She thought she heard a whisper, just distinguishable over the rustle of the trees outside. The voice was female, soft and soothing, though Miaka could not have guessed what was said.

Miaka glanced behind her. She saw nothing; the cave was empty, save for her and Nakago and Tomo's dead body. But she felt different now, as though the brief encounter, whatever it was – had left her strangely energized. "Thank you," she whispered, and she turned back to Nakago.

His face was white now, pale as the unwritten pages of a book. She placed her palm to his chest, felt the weak beat of his heart in his chest – so slow that for a moment she thought for sure he was dead. Time appeared to take on a mind of its own, slowing to match the pulse beneath her hand, which took up a rhythm in her own breaths and heartbeat. Slowly, Miaka lifted her palm and cupped Nakago's face between her hands, letting the cloth on his side continue to absorb his blood. Then, still priding herself on the fact that she wasn't trembling, she leaned forward and with a swift movement pressed Nakago's mouth to her own.

* * *

I would like to cackle gleefully and shout "First kiss! First kiss!"- except this is definitely not the first time they've kissed, if you count the Shijintenchisho, and I'm also not sure the kiss counts when it's part of a life-saving procedure. I think EMTs who perform CPR on a routine basis might be inclined to agree with me. So I'll refrain from any obnoxious cackling for now.

A short chapter this time. I'll probably have the next chapter up in a couple days. (I guess I'd better get cracking if I'm going to finish by March 23rd, huh?)

Thanks to _Helena_, _Nile1283, Desert Renaissance, _and_ tohru78 _for your reviews! I'm glad you guys liked the Nakago scene in the last chapter! That was one of the scenes I fussed over, so it's good to know it turned out decently. See additional responses below. I feel like the question-answer section is turning into more of a I'll-just-reply-to-random-comments-that-people-leave-me section. I can't decide if that's a good thing because it means my writing has gotten less confusing, or if it means that the last couple chapters have been too boring for people to be curious about them. Oh well.

-v-

**Q/A:**

**1. Do these reviews even help you?**

Yes! A lot, actually! It really, really helps to know what you think about the current chapter, what your opinions are about what's going to happen, etc. So thank you!

**2. Even though this story is named 'Protected' and Miaka is supposed to be protecting Nakago, I think he's received the most number of injuries throughout the chapters because of her. Poor guy, it's a romance fiction and he keeps ending up in near-death situations…**

You know, I think you're right. When I set out to write this, I was tired of Miaka being the only one to end up in near-death situations. Perhaps I subconsciously overcompensated. Although, to be fair, I think this is the first time Nakago's ended up with a really serious injury. The other times, he was only burned a little, and that's sort of an occupational hazard of trying to train a stressed-out miko to use her powers.

Also, I think it starts to even out if you consider the events in the Shijintenchisho. Perhaps this is just karma for all the nasty things he did to her? ^_^

**3. The characters' twists in this world bring to mind the alternate world theory - one action spirals off into a completely different path.**

Yay! That's what I was going for.

**4. Please update soon!**

Your wish is my command.

-v-

**Questions for you: **

1. Too graphic? :-P


	33. Put on your pretty lies

…

**XXXIII **

**Put on your pretty lies**

…

Miaka woke slowly. Her back was cold, but there was warmth at her front, and her face was partially buried against soft cloth. At first she tried to press closer to whatever was before her, to warm herself and postpone the inevitable awakening. Her every muscle ached. Even muscles Miaka did not know she possessed felt like rubber bands stretched near to breaking point. Her mouth felt dry, as though she had been sucking on peach skins.

The sun had risen past the horizon; she saw red through her eyelids as the dawn struck her face full-on. She tried to turn her head away, found her cheek pressed flush against somebody's arm –

Then, only then, did she open her eyes.

The arm was Nakago's, of course. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it lay at cross-angles to Nakago's body, against which Miaka had been huddling for warmth, in a manner that was more self-serving than intimate. She was not to blame, really, for she had fallen asleep without her cloak or a cover of any kind, and the mountain air was cold. Nakago lay flat on his back. He was still pale, but he was alive. She felt relief fill her as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then she realized that his eyes were open.

Miaka pushed herself away and scrambled to her feet, fighting back a moan as her joints popped and creaked. Nakago was not staring at her, but far out, towards the mouth of the cave where the light streamed through in sunbeams that shifted and danced with each breeze that swept the treetops. Miaka opened her mouth slightly, intending to address Nakago, but 'Good morning' seemed too shallow and 'How dare you sleep next to me' was not applicable, since it had been she who – out of an exhaustion so sheer it had stymied all movement – had drifted off next to him after the energy transfer. Now, a songbird twittered somewhere nearby, and Miaka was distracted by the light playing against her skin, which soothed and warmed her. What eventually came out of her parted lips was not a greeting but a sigh.

It was morning, birds were singing, and – somehow – miraculously – they were not dead.

The events of the previous night were jumbled and dark. Miaka spent a few moments rearranging them in her head until they resembled something logical. Tenkou had been involved, and he had pretended to be Tamahome – there had been a shield, an illusion she had broken out of – Tomo was good and evil, and they had killed him (remembering this, she shuddered, not wanting to look at the part of the cave where his body lay) – and then there had been a demon that, in her moment of inattention, had succeeded in bending Miaka to his will.

She remembered, too, how Nakago had been near to death, and how, in a moment that was part desperation and part serendipity, a solution to his injury had come to her. Her solution had resulted from hazy memory of Amiboshi aiding her during a fever many years ago. Mouth to mouth chi transfer – Miaka was surprised that it had worked, but obviously it had, for Nakago was still alive.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Nakago, massaging her neck, which seemed to have developed a permanent ache from sleeping at odd angles on the cave floor. It was not as lame a greeting as "Good morning", and she felt better for saying it. She was forcing her body to move now, searching for the place where yesterday's fire had been, studiously ignoring the dead form of Tomo in the corner.

Nakago did not respond to her question, but he did open his eyes and turn his head toward her. "Where," he said, "is the scepter of Kutou?"

"Er."

Of course that _would_ be the first thing he would ask. No greeting – no "Thank you" – no "O Wise and Brilliant Miko; I am forever in your debt" – not even a "Good morning" to start the day off on a positive note! Miaka muffled a sigh in her sleeve as she tried to force her mind to answer Nakago's question.

She wrinkled her brow as she tried to make sense of her memories. She had had the scepter with her when she trapped Nakago and fled from the cave. At some time between her tumble down the mountain and her encounter with Tomo, it had vanished. She must have left it on the shore as she bathed, but she knew Tomo had not taken it. Tomo was dead, and she had not seen it anywhere on his person when he was alive. And it would be just like Tomo to overlook something as obvious as a giant golden scepter lying by the side of a lake.

"There's a lake at the bottom of the mountain," she said, lighting the fire clumsily, for she was still weak with exhaustion. "I think the scepter may be beside the lake."

"You will fetch it."

He had closed his eyes and was leaning back against the wall like a king on a makeshift stone throne. Miaka stared at his unmoving form. For a moment, she felt only astonishment. It was absurd that Nakago could speak so calmly and rationally, could give orders like he actually expected them to obeyed, when he had been so close to death the night before. Even now, he lay prone on the floor of the cave – not _vulnerable_ exactly (even weak, he was still dangerous) – but not unbeatable, either.

Her initial astonishment at his cool demeanor was abruptly replaced with indignation. _Fetch _the scepter? What was she, his personal Chihuahua? He had absolutely no right to give her orders as though he expected to be obeyed without question. She had saved his life last night (she conveniently overlooked the fact that she was partially to blame for his injury in the first place). He owed her – if not a "thank you" – at least a modicum of respect!

"Here's a better idea," she said, tossing a branch on her new fire and turning to face him. "Why don't I make breakfast, eat, get a drink –" (Her mouth felt like she had been chewing on cat fur) "- and _then _we can retrieve the scepter _together_? It's dawn, and if the scepter hasn't wandered off already, no self-respecting demon will be out at this hour to take it." Miaka didn't even know why _she_ was awake at this hour (apart from the cold and Nakago and the bright-as-strobes sunlight).

She took a breath, saw Nakago nod once. Some of Miaka's anger dissipated then, and she felt a little foolish. It was silly to be angry at someone who was wounded. Wounded people let pain guide their speech more often than sense. Even Nakago, who was far from normal, was human. He could act as stoic as he pleased, but Miaka knew that ordinary people couldn't recover from a stab wound that deep overnight, even _with_ the help of a miko's powers. Which meant that Nakago was probably still in a lot of pain right now.

Well, good. Because Miaka had suddenly remembered something else she had learned the previous night, something she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of earlier. Before last night, Nakago had been working for Tenkou. Not that Miaka believed that Nakago was _still_ working for Tenkou – seeing Tomo repeatedly try to kill Nakago had effectively eliminated that fear. She had said last night that Nakago's past loyalties did not matter, and she still believed it. They were allies, for better and worse, and she would respect that.

But she couldn't let Nakago's past loyalties go, not completely; she had to know what she was dealing with. She believed she could trust him, but what if she couldn't? What had passed between Tenkou and Nakago; what had Tenkou wanted Nakago to do? She had to know, had to probe, had to interrogate – had to do it _now_, when Nakago was still laid low from his wounds, when he might actually tell her something useful. It was a cold tactic, but it wasn't hard to imagine him doing the same, had their situations been reversed.

"What do you think of this?" she said brightly. "I'll make you breakfast in exchange for a little information. I think that's a fair trade, don't you?"

It was more than fair, considering how highly she valued food; she was now hungry enough to eat her own breakfast and his, and still have room to spare. The fact that her cooking normally resembled a cross between burnt charcoal and cardboard did not perturb her. This meal would, of course, be different.

She waited expectantly, arms folded as she watched Nakago. His eyes were closed, as though he was struggling to conserve energy. Miaka wondered how his wound was doing. She supposed she should probably change the bandages, but the thought of changing the bandages now, with Nakago awake, was oddly daunting.

By daylight, she could not help but notice all the things she had overlooked in the dark. Like how the lower half of Nakago's tunic was caked with dried blood. Seeing this, Miaka could only think that Nakago _must_ be feeling poorly; the Nakago she knew was too careful, too meticulous to tolerate a bloody shirt. Hadn't he spent an absurd amount of time complaining about that silly cloak she'd stitched wrong?

His shirt, she noticed distantly, was half-open, just enough so that she could see the bandage underneath. But then, of course it was. She had opened it herself while she was healing him last night. She glanced toward the shadow of the makeshift bandage – which had formerly been part of one of her old skirts – and was relieved to see that blood from the wound had not leaked through the fabric as they slept. Idly, hardly realizing what she was doing, her eyes left the bandage and began tracing the exposed flesh peeking out from beneath the stained tunic…

"Subtlety," said Nakago, "is not your strong point."

Her eyes snapped back up to his face, and she flushed a deep red. Then Miaka realized that Nakago's eyes weren't even open. He had been referring to her comment about making breakfast in exchange for information – not to the somewhat questionable direction of her gaze. She hoped.

She released a huff of breath, part relief and part annoyance, as she began rummaging in her bag for the food she knew was there. "I wasn't trying to be subtle," she told him haughtily. "There is absolutely no point to being subtle when I can learn what I want to know just as well by asking you straight out."

His eyes were still closed, and she might have thought him asleep, were it not for the fact that he replied, in a voice that was emotionless but slightly strained: "Ask as you will."

His complacency surprised her. Once more she felt a trace of guilt; he was still quite ill, and she was essentially taking advantage of him in his moment of weakness. She frowned a little.

As if sensing her hesitation, he opened one eye. "Really, Suzaku no miko. As stimulating as this discourse is, I am not made of time."

"I was trying to think of the best question to ask you," she snapped, all sympathy vanishing. She crossed her arms. "Let's start with an easy one. Who are you working for right now?"

At this his other eye opened. "Do you wish for me to flatter you," he said coolly, "and pledge my allegiance to you?"

"I'd know you were lying," said Miaka.

But she realized as she said it that he had _not _tried to lie just now, had not made up a story about belonging to Seiryuu and to her cause all this time, which he could have done easily and smoothly and probably convincingly. Layered within his cold reply was a kind of backhanded form of respect or acknowledgment, so subtle that Miaka almost failed to read it.

"My allegiance is to myself," said Nakago.

She had known that, too, for when had Nakago ever served any interests except his own?

"Fair enough,"' she said, shrugging. "Next question. I suppose it's sort of a follow-up to the first." She nibbled her lower lip. "You could have kept me at Kutou. Thrown me in a dungeon and given me straight over to Tenkou and then gotten your powers back immediately for being a loyal servant, or what have you. Gotten everything you ever wanted. But you let me go. Why did you do that? Why did you wait?"

-v-

Nakago did not know what had prompted him to let the miko leave after the battle in the Kutou palace. Possibly the words _"Then go"_ had been spoken out of a desire to unnerve her and throw her off-guard – or perhaps he had been acting in the grip of an odd, fleeting beneficence, linked to the defeat of his most hated enemy. In his own mind, at least, he could be honest; and honesty forced him to admit that for once, he had not considered the situation from every possible angle before acting.

Of course, it had worked out to his advantage almost immediately, reinforcing her trust in him, providing him the opportunity to converse with Tenkou without the miko's knowledge, and making him appear to support both Tenkou and the miko simultaneously. But that was all post-facto rationalization. He still could not fathom what his motive had been, at the time, for allowing the miko to leave the palace, and it irked him. It had been whim that prompted him to release the miko – nothing more.

"That Tenkou would have returned my powers if I handed you to him was not a foregone conclusion," he said. Though not quite the truth, it was the simplest out of many complex responses, and it was something the miko might understand. "It was to my advantage to release you and then join you on your journey."

"Because you wished me to succeed in my quest?"

"Because there was no guarantee that Tenkou would agree to the reinstatement of my powers. If he did not, then ensuring that you succeeded – and that the gods were unsealed – was the next best solution."

Her eyes narrowed. "You could have made a deal with Tenkou after I rode off: your powers in exchange for my life. You could have brought me directly to Tenkou as soon as you found me, defenseless, alone in the woods in the rain. Instead you made some sort of weird, vague deal with Tenkou that seems to have involved bringing me over to the dark side, and then went on to accompany me on my quest to summon the gods."

"Some of us," said Nakago dangerously, "prefer to have more than one option available to them."

"Bull!" said Miaka.

Eyes like ice, Nakago regarded her. She raised her chin and returned the look, with an expression of wary defiance that one generally reserves for large predators.

"Back in the Shijintenchiso, you were Tenkou's most valuable servant," she snapped. "Tomo said as much, and I suppose it's probably true. Why would Tenkou turn against you now? Why did he manipulate the old Kutou Emperor instead of trusting you? He tried to kill you in the palace-"

"He believed I might be assisting you," Nakago said coldly.

"And why would he think that you were helping me?"

Nakago's eyes narrowed. The same question had crossed his mind before, more than once. And, as happened each time he considered this question, Nakago could not help but remember his brief visit to Mount Taikyoku in the minutes after he had died. He recalled his mother's words, firm and certain:

_"In the world into which you travel now, __**Tenkou does not have power**__. You must keep it so."_

Had Tenkou _known_ about Nakago's visit to Mount Taikyoku, about his mother's appearance and their odd conversation? Nakago did not believe so. The only people allowed on Mount Taikyoku were people Taiitsukun expressly permitted. Nakago was not sure how _he _had been admitted onto the mountain – perhaps the old witch had been desperate. Regardless, Tenkou's creatures should not, _could_ not have been watching that conversation.

But if that was so, then only one other option presented itself.

"Perhaps," said Nakago coldly, "the reason that Tenkou was loath to trust me is that the man who inhabited this body prior to the merging of the worlds might have been uninclined to side with Tenkou."

_That_ caught the miko off guard. She regarded him intently, unspeaking, lips parted slightly in surprise. After a moment she seemed to realize that her mouth was open and clamped it shut again. "You mean Ayuru?"

He knew she was remembering the events she had seen in the _shin_, trying to use that past to piece together what his this-world-counterpart might have done. Nakago remained silent, but his lack of affirmation seemed to perturb her hardly at all. The miko frowned thoughtfully, forehead creasing. "I thought the two of you merged perfectly. You're not going to spontaneously turn into someone else, are you? Like Kaen and -"

She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the word '_Soi_' still hung in the air between them.

"I am not like Soi," he said. The flicker of guilt in her eyes annoyed him.

"Sorry," she said. "I just –"

And then she stopped, her eyes growing wide and almost frightened, focused on a spot somewhere between his eyes and his hairline. As her lips parted soundlessly, Nakago felt a flicker across the skin of his forehead, a tingling sensation that Nakago knew quite well, though it had been months since he had felt it.

Slowly, he raised his palm toward the ceiling. It rushed to his hand, the familiar, vibrant energy, the feeling of power that he had grown accustomed to doing without. Blue light flickered in the cup of his hand like flame on candle-wax, soft and shimmering, illuminating the walls of the small cavern. _Kokoro _blazed on his forehead.

"Fascinating," he said.

The miko did not look like she found this new development particularly pleasing. She regarded him – and the _chi_ in his palm – nervously, as though he had suddenly sprouted fangs. "Well," she said, into the silence, "This is unexpected."

Nakago stood up. At this, the miko actually did take a few steps back, almost tripping and falling into the fire.

"You know you shouldn't be standing," she said, sounding half-concerned and half-terrified. "You nearly bled to death yesterday."

Nakago looked down at himself coolly. His newfound powers were healing his wound far quicker than a normal human wound would repair itself; even now, the residual pain from the sword-thrust was fading. Soon enough, he would puzzle through how it was possible for his seishi powers to have returned, but at the moment, _how_ seemed immaterial.

He channeled more of his power toward the wound. He frowned as he encountered resistance. Something dark seemed to brush against his senses, but it vanished moment he tried to characterize it further, and the resistance vanished with it. He catalogued the information away for future analysis, then turned his attention to other matters. His shirt was encrusted with blood, probably beyond repair. He regarded it coolly for a moment and then shrugged it off. Then he started toward the front of the cave where his pack lay.

He was only halfway to the front of the cave when he noticed the _shin_, lying discarded on the ground. He swept it up, letting it rest for a moment in his palm. Such a tiny object – innocent but dangerous. Certainly not an object that should be abandoned on the floor of a cave outside Eiyou. He frowned and slid the clamshell into his pocket.

With amusement, he noted that the miko was tracking his every movement, as though he was a particularly venomous species of serpent that had suddenly sprung awake. He caught her eye, surprised to find a delicate flush slowly rising to the miko's cheeks.

Her eyes flicked, as though involuntarily, toward his discarded shirt, and Nakago understood. The sudden return of his powers had been accompanied by a significant upswing in mood – no doubt related to the speedy recovery from his injuries – and he found the miko's embarrassment almost entertaining.

He allowed a smile to flicker across his face and raised a cool eyebrow. "Do you find something... _interesting_?" he asked. He lingered a little over the last word, knowing that it would unnerve her.

She seemed to suck in a breath; her eyes left his to glare stoically at the floor. "Aside from the sudden return of your powers, you mean?" she said, folding her arms. "Nakago, what's going –"

She yelped a little and slid backward as he strode toward her, but her back met the wall, and it was easy enough for him to close the distance between them. He leaned in closer, until his lips were almost touching her ear. "Dear, dear," he whispered with feigned concern, amused at the way she winced away from his exposed skin. He was close enough to see her chest rise and fall with rapid, quick, breaths. He reached forward, allowing his knuckles to ever-so-slightly brush her cheek. Absently he noted how smooth the skin of her face was, even as his lips curled into a smile. "Flushed cheek and shallow breathing. Are you _quite_ all right, Suzaku no Miko?"

For a moment, she stood as if paralyzed. Then, like a rabbit that suddenly realizes it has survived an attack, she seemed to remember how to speak. "Get away f-from me, you bastard." Her voice wavered slightly over the words. She swallowed, still determinedly not meeting his eyes. "I don't know what – You may have your powers back, but you have no right to – And for the love of the gods, _put your shirt on!_"

She darted past him, toward the front of the cave and the fire. Nakago was startled by the look of barely-concealed fear that she dealt him over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Of course, she had every reason to be frightened. If his powers had returned fully, then he would have no cause to continue to aid her, in which case she would be left to pursue her quest on her own. With some amusement, he considered the miko's prospects of arriving in Eiyou safely. Her penchant for disaster was balanced now by her mastery of the more basic uses of her powers, but her powers were practically dried up after the events of the previous night. It would take her a day to recover, and in the meantime, she would most likely be set upon by bandits, or demons.

But Nakago doubted that being alone was at the heart of the miko's fear. No – Nakago's eyes narrowed slightly – what the miko really feared was him. Nakago the seishi, powers fully restored to their deadly capacity. Had his actions just now brought back memories of their time in the Shijintenchisho? No doubt she suspected that he would attack and violate her, drag her kicking and screaming to Tenkou's lair, and make the completion of her quest impossible. Perhaps in that order.

That in itself was enough to rouse a dry smile as he reached into his pack for a clean tunic. It would be entertaining to see how far he could push the miko. Her own powers might have grown in the last months, but he had no doubts about his ability to best her in a battle. Perhaps some small retribution was in order, for being trapped in a cage of her _chi_ for the better part of a night.

He turned back to the miko. She had gone back to regarding him, a coolly assessing look. Their eyes met across the cave, but this time, she didn't flinch away. To his surprise, he realized that all traces of fear had fled from her face – her expression was one of steel, the same firm resolve had shown during the battle with Tomo. She watched him with caution, but all traces of nervousness had vanished, masked beneath a veneer of purpose. That gave him pause.

She had put on the same brave front in the Shijintenchisho, he remembered suddenly. There, his powers had always far outstripped her own – yet time and again she had disguised her terror and challenged him, knowing full well what he could do to her. A reckless kind of courage – some might say foolish – but any soldier knew the strength of will required to face an enemy of superior strength head-on.

She stood by the fire, close enough to the edge of the cave that her eyes caught the early-morning sunlight. For an instant they seemed to glow, almost like the symbol that currently blazed on his forehead. Brown with the barest hint of green, like pools from a forest. When he had looked into her face – a year ago, perhaps – he had thought them the eyes of a child – furious and frightened and laughing by turns. Her eyes were still just as capable of anger and fear and laughter, but something about them was deeper, less naïve, more knowing. These were the eyes of a priestess, not a child.

These were the eyes of a woman who could summon the gods.

Even as these thoughts flitted through his mind, Nakago felt the symbol on his forehead flicker like a candlelight in the breeze – on, off, on. It gave him just enough warning to put a hand to the cave wall before the symbol faded completely.

The miko seemed to realize that the sudden loss of his powers had not been anticipated. Cautiously, she made to join him, lower lip between her teeth. "Nakago?" she said uncertainly. "What exactly does all of this… mean?"

Somewhere below them, a bird was singing, a bright dawn song that mocked the evils of the previous night. The miko had stepped out of the sunlight now, and her eyes had returned to their ordinary shade of brown. She continued to regard him with a mixture of determination and wariness.

_It means,_ thought Nakago, _that I will continue to accompany you for the foreseeable future. _But he did not say this. He touched his wound lightly. The few minutes during which his power had returned had been sufficient to heal the worst of his injury, though it was still tender, and it would be another day before his strength was fully recovered. He touched his forehead, where a second ago the mark _kokoro_ had been blazing, and looked at the miko with a smile that was almost sardonic.

"It seems, Suzaku no Miko, that the seal on Seiryuu is weakening."

* * *

**Ye olde author's note:** Two steps forward, one step back? Sorry if this chapter is something of a filler. Although after the action of the previous chapters, I suspect we may need a bit of a break!

Thanks to _Nile1283, Helena, honey, Desert Renaissance, _and _tohru78_ for your phenomenal responses to the last chapter. Hopefully this story will live up to your expectations! ~_^

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. I was expecting some big scene of expelling the demon, but that was rather anticlimatic. **

What can I say? I think I was just tired of writing battle scenes by that point. The fight did go on for 6 chapters. Also, there was a reason the demon gave up when he did, which will be revealed in the next couple chapters I think.

**2. It made me giggle thinking about the amount of teasing/snarkiness Miaka has in store for her, courtesy of Nakago once he regains enough energy to talk.**

Yes, that will come up next chapter. –rubs hands together evilly-

**3. This chapter makes me wonder how Miaka would react if she saw Nakago naked.**

…Someone has a dirty mind. JK. ^_^ But this brings up a good general point, which is the more physical side of their relationship. My two cents on that point is: they've only just stopped wanting to kill each other, so they're still a ways away from wanting to (to quote Alan Rickman in one of my favorite comedies) "have lots of sex and babies." At the same time, the fact that Miaka no longer wants Nakago dead and vice versa means that each will now be somewhat more receptive to the other's attractive characteristics, including physical ones.

**4. Miaka's chi in palm made me think of a Miyazaki film.**

Speaking of Miyazaki films, has anyone seen Arrietty yet? I'm trying to find ways to persuade my roommate to see it with me.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Was this chapter too filler-y?

2. Was Nakago out of character in the last section? (Just checking. It's nearly 5 in the morning -whines-)

3. Why do I have a headache right now?

4. And an intense craving for cookies? (… But not enough to make me want to give out my address to innocent people with pitchforks. Sorry, Nile1283. ^_^)


	34. You're in the city of wonder

…

**XXXIV **

**You're in the city of wonder**

…

The first order of business after breakfast was to close camp and head down the mountain to retrieve the scepter of Kutou. This task proved more difficult than expected, for Miaka had no memory of the lake's location. She had fled blindly through the darkness the previous night, and the sole thing she was certain of was that she had she fled down, and not up, the hillside. And the lake – though Miaka knew it had been large – was not visible from their cave.

It was fortunate that the temporary return of Nakago's powers had seen to the worst of his injury, for Miaka would never have been able to retrace her steps alone. Miaka watched, with not a little guilt, as Nakago put his tracking skills to good use. The thick trees and rocky terrain made identifying her trail from the last night difficult, and Miaka hung back with the horse, following Nakago at a distance as he trained his eyes intently on the rocky ground.

They traveled like that for most of the morning. As they walked, Miaka noticed the symbol on Nakago's forehead flickering, as though it was trying to decide whether or not to shine. It distracted her, these flashes of blue which shimmered in the corner of her eye, and she glanced toward him more and more often, until he said, "Do you require assistance, miko?"

"Nothing, I mean, no," she said, turning away to hide her flush. She wondered if he felt anything, wondered if he could sense Seiryuu's battle for freedom or had just concluded that the seal on Seiryuu was weakening by deduction. If the abrupt return and disappearance of Nakago's powers throughout the morning brought him discomfort, he said nothing, but he had said little regarding his near-fatal wound as well.

"Listen," Nakago said.

The stream was a pleasant burble against the backdrop of breeze and birdcalls.

"I think this means we're not that far away," said Miaka, who could remember stumbling through a stream on her flight the previous night. She remembered falling right after reaching the stream, careening uncontrollably down the hill, colliding with a stump and losing her grip on the scepter – which had presumably rolled down the hill with her. And that was when she had found herself on the shore of the lake.

They made for the burble of water, but sound carries strangely in mountainous terrain, and the stream proved elusive, farther away than Miaka first thought. She began to hurry, stumbling past trees and over brush in her haste to reach the stream, and it was only when the toe of her shoe touched the water that she realized that Nakago was a good few feet behind her. He was not breathing hard, but his face was slightly drawn, paler than usual, and Miaka knew – from the times she and Yui had dawdled in shop windows on the way to school and then sprinted all the way to class – that it was easy enough to conceal your breathing when you had to.

"You need to rest," she said flatly, hands on her hips, chin upraised and resolute. "Seiryuu may be breaking loose, but you still had a sword put through you last night, and you lost a lot of blood."

"And your chi is all but depleted," he said coolly. "If anyone were to attack us at this moment, defense would be difficult – hence the need to keep moving and retrieve the scepter of Kutou."

"Yeah," said Miaka, "but that won't help us if you're _dead_ by the time we get there."

"I am not dying, nor am I anywhere close to death, Miko."

"Good," said Miaka, "because I don't really feel up to lugging your corpse around in my exhausted state. Look." She sighed, deeply and tiredly. "I don't really think we'll be attacked if we rest here for five minutes, not unless we keep on shouting at each other like this, so can't you just sit _down _–"

She hadn't really meant to place a hand on his chest as she said these words. That is, what she had _meant_ to do was to give him a push so that he would overbalance (in retrospect she realized how foolish it was to think Nakago would cooperate by losing his balance), stumble backward, and be forced into sitting. But the chest her hand pressed against was depressingly solid, and she found that she had put too much force behind the shove or hadn't coordinated it properly, or _something_ – so that instead of bouncing backward, her hand stayed there like it was fastened with superglue, and she was half-supporting her weight on her hand which was pressed on Nakago's chest, and the phrase 'Eff my life' was dancing a merry little jig inside her brain. Except her traitorous brain was also suddenly, horribly, gleefully aware of the way Nakago's chest was a chest that most women would have thought was absurdly attractive, and that Nakago was not wearing his armor. It was still on the horse, which was trailing them with forlorn bewilderment.

And it did not help that images from earlier that morning chose that precise moment to start gallivanting through her head like caffeinated rabbits. Nakago, in a rather striking state of undress, leaning close to her, inquiring (in an all-too-horribly-amused way) whether she was _quite_ well –

"Um," she said, and she yanked her palm back as though it had touched napalm. "You were s-supposed to sit down." She uttered these words with as much dignity as anyone who is red as a beet and stammering spasmodically could hope to muster.

Desperately, Miaka hoped she would wake, open her eyes and discover that this had been a bad dream, or even one of Tomo's illusions. She pondered the solidness of the forest floor beneath her (depressingly solid) and the probability of that ground spontaneously evaporating (depressingly slim). It did not help that Nakago looked coolly entertained by her actions. But even amused, there remained an aloofness about him, a kind of distance that suddenly, irrationally bothered her. His face was close to hers; she wondered what would happen if she leaned forward, took her nails to his face and scratched and scratched at the surface to get at the person underneath. It would not work, she thought; his mask was not like Chichiri's – it was deeper than skin, and it would take more than her sad attempts to pull it loose.

"I wish to stand," said Nakago.

"Fine." She said the word briskly, in tones that were almost relieved. She could not help feeling as though she had been somehow rebuffed, even though she was the one who had snatched her hand away a moment ago. It irked her. She raised her chin. "We'll _stand_ and rest. _I'm_ tired, even if you can keep walking all day. Healing you was no piece of cake, you know."

As soon as these words had left her lips she knew she had made a mistake again. The pink hue that invaded her cheeks was proof that she had ventured upon another Highly Humiliating Topic (HHT). Worse, Nakago seemed to have a kind of sixth sense for these kind of things. It was, Miaka thought miserably, a little bit like the way rattlesnakes can sense infrared, except with Nakago it seemed to be somehow tuned to her embarrassment level, which was currently Fry-An-Egg-On-Your-Face.

"Strange," he said, "how little of this healing I seem to recall. Since our rest stop gives us a few minutes, perhaps you might enlighten me as to what actually transpired while I was unconscious?"

And Miaka knew, from the half-smirk that played about his mouth, that Nakago knew perfectly well what had happened, or if he had not known, he had at least guessed by now from the look on her face, which was nine different shades of red. Her hormones were to blame for getting her into these situations, her inane ability to trip over her own mouth, and now she must look like she had swallowed a lemon, for she certainly felt that way. The only dignified thing to do right now was to suck it up, pretend that her ears weren't burning, and answer bluntly, which he would not be expecting at all.

"You were losing blood, and you needed a chi transfer, so I kissed you," she said flatly, and emboldened by the way that one eyebrow rose nearly to his hairline, she added snidely, "Actually, I had expected you to be better, but I guess you couldn't help it – you _were_ half-dead, after all."

There. She still felt shaky, but she had not wilted into a puddle of a humiliation like she would have done one year ago, and her retort had been decently acerbic. She turned on her heel, not wanting to see if he opened his mouth to reply, and said, too quickly, too harshly:

"Are you ready to go? We still have to find the scepter."

It was a fact he had been remarking upon for the past half hour, and he did not hesitate to remind her of this; and at this reminder she scowled and shot off a snappish reply, and they were back to normal again, heading once more down to the lake where the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan had just picked up the errant scepter of Kutou.

-v-

"Sniff! Good boy. Now, go on, hup!"

The skin of the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan was pale and perfect, cream-colored like the cherry-blossoms on Mount Taikyoku. The most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan did not remember these cherry blossoms, and even if she had, she would have been stung by the comparison, for clearly she was more lovely than any measly sort of_ flower_.

The dog of the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan had been a gift from her husband, the Emperor of Hong-Nan. The Emperor was the only person in the entire kingdom who could possibly rival her in beauty. Nuriko had known, the moment she laid eyes on her husband two years before, that they could, would, and simply _had to be_ married. Not only were they surely made for each other, two swans in a sea of geese, but it would also have been a great pity if their mutual loveliness were not concentrated into heartbreakingly beautiful offspring.

In the latter regard, her plan had become somewhat muddled. Nuriko was not really sure what had gone wrong where her and Hotohori's son was concerned, but he was quite shockingly _chubby_. Houki had told her babies grew out of these sorts of things in time, and Nuriko hoped this was true. Of course she still loved Boushin, but some days she regarded him with fond confusion, as though not certain entirely how she had given birth to such a creature.

At the moment, her son was waving his hands toward the hunting dog she was coaxing, a large brown-furred animal with floppy ears and a decidedly eager expression. "Puppy!" he said merrily.

"Dumb dog," Nuriko said severely to the hunting dog, who was regarding her with wagging tail and eyes that were liquid and innocent. She still held the scepter, and waved it at the dog, in a manner half-chiding. "I said, find the person who smells like this. I said, HUP!"

Brown hair, long and flowing like the ribbons that trailed from her dress in artful cascades, fell to the small of her back in bossy but glorious curls that were the envy of half the women of court, and possibly some of the men as well. At the moment, Nuriko was wishing she had brought along more pins to keep it from getting into her eyes.

The woman who accompanied her, who – if not for a small pimple currently festering above her left eyebrow – might have contested Nuriko for title of most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan, or at least won third place, said, in a serene voice that befitted the wife of the Emperor's brother:

"Maybe he's tired. We have come a long way today. Perhaps you shouldn't be so harsh on him."

Nuriko blew the errant tendrils of hair from her eyes with a dissatisfied huff, poking the scepter deep into the ground in frustration. "Houki," she said. "I know tired dogs. And I know lazy dogs. This dog is beyond lazy. This dog is setting a bad example for my son. This dog – NO, BAD PUPPY, MYSTEROUS GOLDEN SCEPTERS LEFT LYING ON LAKESIDES ARE _NOT_ TO PLAY FETCH WITH!"

Boushin began to cry. Houki reached forward, gently brushing strands of hair from his face. "Your mother's just a little upset," she said soothingly.

"Darn right I'm upset!" said Nuriko, waving the scepter emphatically. "Now it's covered in dog spit. …Sorry, Houki."

Houki shrugged. She had grown up in a farmstead before she came to the palace, and they were beyond the ears of others who would be bothered by Nuriko's frank speech. Perhaps their humble beginnings explained why they were still close friends; despite years of practice, neither had quite adapted to the perfect ways of court life. Nuriko was comfortable in fine dress and could use proper manners when it suited her, but she had a _presence_ that bothered those court traditionalists who did not think it was proper in a woman. Houki was well-versed in manners and knew, better than most, when to be silent; it was the constant elegance, the lack of simplicity, that troubled her about palace life.

"I can't just leave this thing lying beside the lake," said Nuriko. "It's solid gold. Who in their right mind would abandon a solid gold scepter beside a lake? I've never seen anything so absurd."

"Maybe you were meant to find it," said Houki.

Nuriko, still staring at the scepter, was assailed with an odd feeling, beginning in her chest and thrilling through her fingertips. It was not warmth or strong emotion, but it was a kind of pull all the same, a strange feeling, like the sensation of long-forgotten memories dragged unwillingly to the surface. She was not unused to such feelings, nor was she unused to abruptly disregarding them as soon as they occurred.

She hefted the scepter in her hand, frowning at the weight of it. She had the oddest sense that the scepter disliked her, or found her an object of some disdain. That was ridiculous. It was a _scepter_, not some contemptuous court noble! Defiantly, she clutched it tighter and let out a ladylike snort.

"I do not suppose you plan to tell me," said Houki, in teasing tones, "your reasons for having us sneak from the palace at six this morning for a forest trip, without guards or protection."

"It's perfectly safe," Nuriko said, a little defensively. "Pooch will warn us of any intruders."

She shot a reproving glare at the errant dog, which had climbed onto his hind legs as though begging for sweets. "On second thought," she said, "we'd probably have more luck fighting any attackers off with treebranches."

Houki watched silently as Nuriko sighed and raked long fingers through her free-flowing hair. "I just have this feeling sometimes, you know? I get all cooped up and frustrated. I mean, don't get me wrong, Hotohori's wonderful, and court life's a peach, but some days I feel like it's not really what I signed up for. I guess I thought so long about how I would win Hotohori's heart that I never really thought about what would happen _after_ that happened, you know?"

"Perhaps you require a hobby," Houki said.

"Other than barking the head off the prime minister when he displeases me and staring for long hours at Hotohori and playing with different ways to style my hair? Yeah, I've thought of that." Nuriko lowered the scepter against the ground – tap, tap, tap. "It's more than that though. The weird thing is," she said, "sometimes I feel like this isn't really where I'm supposed to be. That everything's off, from what it should be. Everything seems darker lately, not like we're near war exactly but… like something's coming. Something bad."

"Something _is _coming," said Houki. Her eyes were not good, and she was half-squinting into the distance. "Two people," she said. "And possibly a horse."

Nuriko had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach again. This time, it felt like a touch of destiny. Or like her morning eggs had simply disagreed with her. She couldn't decide which.

Pooch, in a belated attempt to be useful, let out a half-hearted bark.

And Boushin, inevitably, began to cry.

-v-

Their meeting was awkward, as it had rarely been in the Shijintenchisho. Nuriko blamed it on Miaka's traveling companion, who seemed to be able to take any innocent interaction and almost effortlessly succeed in turning it into a staring contest.

Nuriko had always been confident in her ability to stare people down, but Nakago, with an ice-cold glare that could probably freeze stone, was quite skilled at holding one's gaze until, shaking and watery-eyed, his hapless victim was forced to turn away through sheer loss of will. But Nuriko had her son to think of – the son who was currently being rocked by Houki, while Nuriko stood before him like a protective shield, the golden scepter clutched in her hands.

"Nuriko," said Miaka brightly, "Perhaps we should –"

"Miaka," said Nuriko, and her grip on the gold rod was so tight her knuckles were practically white now. "I don't think you quite comprehend the dangerousness of the situation."

With the arrival of Miaka, Nuriko's other memories, the ones that had been slumbering for the last two months, had sprung abruptly to the surface. It was almost dangerous, because remembering her Shijintenchisho life also granted Nuriko the memory of a strength she did not have, and with that came a reckless sense of freedom. Nuriko's grip on the scepter tightened, a cheerful – and perhaps slightly deranged – smile starting across her face. The arrogant bastard who stood before her had killed her precious Hotohori in a former life. _She _wouldn't back down, not even if he wanted a fight.

Nakago, Nuriko noticed with irritation, seemed to be practically at ease, despite the fact that Nuriko was glaring at him with an expression that could have set whole buildings on fire. "Intriguing," he said coolly, as though he was commenting on the weather. "What brings the Emperor's wife and son into the forest, alone, with no guards or protection?"

"We do have the dog," Houki said politely.

Pooch let out another indecisive woof and settled himself comfortably on Nakago's boot.

"Stupid Pooch," Nuriko muttered half-heartedly, taking a brief hiatus from her staring contest with Nakago to shoot a disapproving look toward the dog. "I hope he kicks you."

Nakago glanced toward the animal that lay at his feet. "Clearly an exemplar protector," he said dryly. As if on cue, the dog whuffed happily, tongue lolling. Miaka reached forward and began to massage Pooch's ears.

"I'm rather inclined to think that it's your safety you ought to be worrying about, instead of ours," Nuriko said flippantly. "You're Kutou's _prized_ shogun, you're in enemy country, and you also killed the Emperor of Hong-Nan in a former life. No, Houki, I will _not_ stand down! I am not letting this bastard shogun anywhere near Boushin."

At these words, Nakago's eyes slid to the form behind Nuriko, cool interest sweeping across his features. Boushin, perhaps sensing the attention, puckered his face into a piercing wail that lanced the clearing. Nuriko couldn't blame him.

"So this is the future Emperor of Hong-Nan," said Nakago.

Nuriko clenched her fists. She could hear Boushin whimpering behind her, obviously distressed. Something about the feel of her son clutching her skirts and shivering seemed to conjure up all sorts of mothering instincts Nuriko had never known she had. She bristled. "What about him?" she demanded.

Nakago's eyes drifted, lazily, back to Nuriko. "I merely think it is a pity," he said, lip curling, "that he seems to have inherited none of his parents' beauty. Though perhaps his mother's ill manners are a different story."

Nuriko saw red.

She was halfway to Nakago when Miaka and Houki grabbed her and yanked her back. Had Nuriko still possessed the otherworldly strength she had been graced with in the Shijintenchisho, it would have been no contest, but in this world, she was only as strong as any other female tomboy. Nuriko yelled and fought and struggled, but Miaka had a very sharp elbow, and Houki had a surprisingly mean right hook. Somehow, they overbalanced and ended up on the grass. Miaka sat on Nuriko's legs, and Houki pinned Nuriko's arms to her sides. They all sat panting for a moment.

"Give up?" Miaka said.

"I yield," said Nuriko weakly. "Now get off my legs!"

She sat up. With a jolt, she realized that Boushin had been watching the entire scene with unadulterated fascination. All of his fear seemed to have vanished, and the little miscreant was gazing at her almost delightedly. _Lovely,_ Nuriko thought._ Hotohori will be so pleased that I am teaching our son to be a hooligan. _

She saw her son glance at Nakago. "Playing!" he said, waving a chubby finger in her general direction.

"Yes," Nakago said calmly, "They do seem to be having a good time, don't they?"

Nuriko opened her mouth to offer an indignant retort. But Miaka got there first, jumping fluidly between them. "I think," she said, a touch breathlessly, "that we should all calm down and start over and make some kind of effort to put aside each other's differences and be diplomatic, because we have much better things to be doing right now than starting fights with the people we need to _work with_." And Miaka directed a glare at Nakago.

It was a reproachful glare, a familiar, annoyed glare with no real ill will behind it. It was the sort of glare that Nuriko had given Hotohori on numerous occasions. At any other time, Nuriko might have frowned thoughtfully and pondered this development. But today, Nuriko had Boushin and Hotohori to protect. She had a duty to keep Eiyou safe from evil shoguns. "Miaka," she said, glowering, "have you lost your mind?"

"Well," said Miaka, almost hesitating. "No. I don't think so."

"Then shut up, and allow me to kill him."

Miaka grabbed her wrist again. "Nuriko," she said, and her voice was almost desperate, "how much do you want Eiyou to be overrun by demons?"

Nuriko paused. Her this-world mind said, _there's no such thing as demons_, but the part of her that was still anchored in the Shijintenchisho – the same part of her that seemed to be linked with the odd brush of destiny she had felt earlier – was mumbling, _Oh, shit. _

Slowly, she relaxed, and Miaka, as if sensing her change in mood, loosened her grip on Nuriko's arm. Nuriko stepped back, shaking the blood back into her hand and grimacing.

"I think," she said, "you've got some explaining to do."

-v-

They listened, all the way back to Eiyou, as Miaka described her journey into Kutou, the battle with the Emperor, and her journey with Nakago into Souen. It was easy to see that Nuriko believed her but didn't want to believe her too, like a man in denial about the collapse of his house. As it had been with Tasuki and Mitsukake at Souen, the return of Nuriko's memories had been abrupt, a kind of set-eyes-on-Miaka amnesia reversal that left the seishi irritable and faintly confused. Houki seemed to have remembered too, but Houki had a poker-face to rival Nakago's and a gentleness that made Miaka feel clumsy and rude, and if she was unsettled by the return of her memories, she let nothing show.

Miaka was grateful. She was grateful that Nakago's mark appeared to have ceased flickering to life on his forehead as it had been doing for most of the morning, because it would probably worsen the relations between him and Nuriko still further. She was pleased that Nakago and Nuriko were no longer engaged in the staring match to end all staring contests, and that Nakago had ceased baiting Nuriko at every opportunity. She was grateful for Houki, who appeared perpetually polite and rational despite the return of her memories, and who, if she felt any ill-will toward Nakago for the death of her then-husband Saihetei, outwardly showed no sign of it. "I apologize for our behavior earlier," Houki told Nakago, palms together, proper, as Nuriko hummed a soft note of annoyance in the background.

"Your apology is not necessary," said Nakago, inclining his head slightly. The action surprised Miaka, as did the fact that his expression was practically respectful (or as near to respectful as she'd ever seen Nakago act). Houki accepted his statement with composure, bowing with exactly the correct depth as was befit a woman of the emperor's family showing deference to a rival emperor.

"So, all you need now," said Nuriko, "is the sword that belongs to Hotohori, and some objects from Sairou and Hokkan? And then you will summon the gods, and then Tenkou will disappear?"

Miaka nodded. Put it that way, they were eons away from finishing their task. She felt depression sweep through her.

"Retrieving the objects from Sairou and Hokkan could be made simple," said Nakago, "if a war-council with the Emperors of those countries was held at Eiyou to address the demon threat."

"Hm," said Nuriko noncommittally.

"In that case," said Miaka, staring at him, "why didn't you just invite the Emperors of Sairou, Hokkan, and Hong-Nan to visit Kutou?"

"Do you believe, Suzaku no Miko, that with Kutou's record of conquest and betrayal, attendance would have been high? I do not."

"Smart man," said Nuriko.

They were entering the city proper now, and it was noisier than Miaka remembered. There was also far more confetti, which fell upon their shoulders in waves as they strolled through the palace gates.

"Right! I forgot it's a holiday," said Nuriko. "Let's swing through the shops on our way to the palace, if you don't mind, I've got a few items to pick up."

She said these words flippantly, but had Miaka been listening more carefully, she might have recognized a subtle undertone to that flippancy, a kind of throwback to an earlier time in the Shijintenchisho, when Nuriko had tried to trick her into stepping into a weed-filled koi pond. Miaka, relieved by Houki's overture of friendliness, suspected nothing, and Nakago sensed hesitation but pinned it on caution and not outright deception.

They traveled slowly. In the case of Houki and Nuriko, Miaka sensed that the subdued pace was more out of appreciation for their surroundings than anything, but Miaka was grateful for the reprieve from fast walking. She wondered if the reason Nakago had ceased baiting Nuriko was not out of a sudden realization that he needed to be polite, but simply because he was tired. _She_ was exhausted, and she was not recovering from a deep sword-wound. Nakago's face was still paler than usual, and there was a darkness beneath his eyes that she had never seen before. If his powers had been sustaining him that morning, they were certainly not doing so now.

The city of Eiyou was even more beautiful than Miaka remembered, for it was strung with crepe and baubles and paper lanterns for the festival. There were tents with everything a customer could desire, from necklaces and jewels to horses and camels. Despite the beauty, Miaka could not help the curling unease in her gut, a kind of coiling within the pit of her stomach that refused to go away. This city held memories.

Nuriko stepped into a stall heavily draped with carpets and strung with lights to buy incense, and Houki followed her. Miaka, who had no particular love for incense, and besides that no money, stayed outside. Nuriko's voice drifted out at her from within the tent, calling Miaka's name, but Miaka shook her head, choosing instead to stop and admire a glassblower's work in a nearby stall.

They were standing on the same street on which she and Tamahome had lived. She could not help but glance down the cobbled road every so often, in the direction of their house, which lay farther down, just beyond the market district. It was impossible to see in the growing darkness. _But I know it's there. _Miaka shivered. She didn't think she was ready to go back yet. At the same time, it seemed disloyal to Tamahome somehow, to be so intent in avoiding the past.

"You are troubled?" said Nakago.

Miaka could not help but wonder at the eerie way in which he seemed capable of reading her moods. She supposed it probably had something to do with his uncanny ability to sense chi. _But that doesn't mean I have to like it._ She sighed.

"Yes – perhaps – not really. I don't know. Hey, look, there's a tiny glass boat!" She reached up and touched the beautiful replica of a galley-ship that hung from the ceiling of the glassblower's stall. "And a flower! How does the shopkeeper possibly make them that small?"

Nakago shrugged. "Glassmaking was a technique perfected in Hokkan and brought to the other three kingdoms by traders. It is an ancient art, and a secret one. I suspect only the masters of the trade know the answer to your question."

Miaka glanced at Nakago, surprised. She had expected Nakago to call her out on her abrupt subject change, not to go along with it. But he was not even looking at her; he was regarding the dangling glass flower with an almost pensive expression. Miaka glanced back toward the glass sculptures. She could not help but think of how few truly beautiful things she had managed to create in the space of her life. It made her sigh, a little.

"Did they have festivals like this in Kutou?" she asked Nakago.

"A few," said Nakago. His expression was inscrutable, but Miaka thought she sensed a trace of disgust in his tone. "The Emperor banned most holidays, believing worship of rain-spirits or seasonal events detracted from the peoples' appreciation of him. The people were allowed to celebrate his birthday, and the anniversaries of his most prized conquests, as holidays."

"That's terrible," she said, and she wondered if one of the holidays that Kutou celebrated was the conquest of his tribe, his people. "People should be able to celebrate what they choose," she said, "not what's forced on them."

He was silent, whether in agreement or reliving a memory of days long past she did not know. She was tempted to ask him if one of the holidays really was the conquest of the Hin, but she held back; the easy peace between them was almost unprecedented, and she found herself reluctant to disturb it.

"There are people watching you," she murmured, a few minutes later. The air was warmer in Eiyou than it had been in the mountains, warmer still because it was the city, and a lazy breeze brushed past to catch her hair.

"It is no matter," said Nakago. "They are curious. They fear me, perhaps, but they will not attack."

"And when they manage to attract someone who will?" Miaka hated to let worry ruin the pleasantness of the evening, but she did not like the nature of the whispers that Nakago's presence was garnering. "What about when my presence causes them to remember the Shijintenchisho, and the shogun who led the attack against Hong-Nan?"

Before he could reply, she had ducked back into the tent, intending to call Nuriko and Houki out, make them hurry up toward the palace, where they would be, if not perfectly safe, at least capable of obtaining an audience who believed them.

Neither Nuriko nor Houki was in sight. The tent was empty of customers, empty save for a thin, balding man who seemed to be the shopkeeper.

"Pardon me," said Miaka, panic rising, "but you wouldn't have happened to see two woman enter this tent, just a few minutes ago?"

"They left through the back," he said, indicating a loose tent-flap and staring at her with disdain.

"Thanks," said Miaka, and she emerged into the sunlight again, insides twisting with unease. "Nakago," she said, "I think we should go."

Only then did she notice the glint of metal off the swords of the imperial guards that surrounded them, the cold expressions directed toward both her and Nakago. A deep sinking sensation swooped through her stomach, and she swallowed convulsively. "What's this?" she said. "What's going on?"

"You are together, then?" The leader of the guard gave a swift nod, and two of his subordinates broke off from the rest and took Miaka roughly by the shoulders. "You are under arrest and will be immediately escorted to the palace, by order of Nuriko, Wife of Saihetei, Emperor of Hong-Nan."

* * *

**Author's note:**

Well _that_ was a fun (and absurdly long and somewhat silly) chapter! Thanks to _Helena, Desert Renaissance, _and _tohru78_ for your reviews of the last one and for keeping up with the story. I do realize that this is kind of an absurd number of updates in so short a time period. But I do want to finish this story sometime within this lifetime…

In case you're confused (although I hoped you figured this out by now): in this world, Nuriko and Hotohori are married, and Boushin is their son. Houki is married to the emperor's brother, whose name I can't remember off the top of my head and who isn't particularly important to the story. Nuriko is one of my favorite characters in Fushigi Yuugi because of his/her unrivaled awesomeness factor, so I'm quite pleased that he's/she's finally made an appearance. And yes, Nuriko did just order Miaka and Nakago arrested.

So, looking back (on like, this entire story) I just realized I royally screwed up with the naming. All of the Suzaku seishi ought to have both a non-seishi name (which they're known by in the new world) and their Shijintenchisho name (which they go by when they're around Miaka). Like Kaen and Soi, Ayuru and Nakago. And they don't, because I guess I just had a stupid mental blip where this was concerned. …Ooops? Anyway, it's not that important to the story, but it's suddenly bothering me. But I'm not going to go back and change it right now because that would take a long time and probably just create a lot of unnecessary error.

The other naming error I made was Hong-Nan vs Konan and Qu-Dong vs Kutou. Apparently Hong-Nan and Qu-Dong are the Chinese names of the kingdoms; Konan and Kutou are the Japanese names. Since I'm using mostly the Japanese names for things, I should probably start using "Konan" if I'm going to be consistent. Mehhhh. There needs to be a global find and replace for all the chapters at once.

-v-

**Questions/Comments (from you): **

**The teasing and subtle physical attraction shows a bit of their changed dynamic. I can't wait for more!**

Voila.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Too much emphasis on Nakago's chest in recent chapters? (Heh…)

2. Thoughts on Nuriko's characterization in this chapter? Too... er... deranged?


	35. Ain't gonna play nice

…

**XXXV**

**Ain't gonna play nice**

…

It was a mark of Nakago's exhaustion that he did not struggle as the guards led him towards the palace prison. Or perhaps he simply felt his odds would be improved by cooperating. Miaka did not know, but it frightened her a little, the way he coolly and politely allowed the Hong-Nan soldiers to place ropes around his hands. Perhaps he believed that the people of Hong-Nan were soft; perhaps he thought they would not murder him for murdering their Emperor in a previous life, but what if he was wrong, what if the people of Eiyou actually did remember, and what if he was really going to be executed for his crimes?

She trudged in silence, lost in dark thoughts. The horse, which had been confiscated, was being led by two guards. Miaka still held the scepter; she had refused to give it up, and the imperial soldiers, who perhaps carried memories of their own about who she was, made no attempts to take it from her.

Nuriko's betrayal hurt, but not as much as Miaka had expected. Miaka was convinced that a mistake had been made somewhere, and she was determined not to give up on Nuriko just yet. Nuriko was one of the seishi she had always considered her constant ally (never mind the weirdness with the pond weeds early on in their relationship). In the Shijintenchisho, they had been like sisters, and then like friends, as Nuriko slowly began to fill the gap that Yui's betrayal had left. Miaka had wept more for Nuriko's death than she had for any of her other seishi, and her relief at finding Nuriko alive in this world had been overwhelming.

But this-world's Nuriko was a woman, was married, had a child, even. More than any of the other Suzaku seishi, Miaka sensed a change about her. It was not that she thought Nuriko was in any danger of becoming like Soi/Kaen; the Nurikos of both worlds still shared many of the same views on life (from undying love for Hotohori to sheer, pervasive vanity). But having a child changed one's priorities. Miaka was not sure why, it just _did_.

The sound of the cell door closing and the thud of a heavy lock brought her out of her thoughts. Miaka watched Nakago across the prison cell. The light was so dim that the only thing she could make out at first was his light shirt. After some minutes, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she was able to catch the glint reflecting off his eyes as he stared thoughtfully through the bars of the prison. After a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone wall.

_He really _must_ be tired!_ Miaka thought. "Nakago," she said uncertainly. "Your wound –"

"Examine it if you wish, Miko."

She took a few steps forward cautiously, until she knelt beside him. She realized then that there remained a barrier to her effective examination. "Take off your shirt," she said briskly. "Because I'm not. Going to."

How wonderful it was that it was dark, and she couldn't see how bright her face was turning! Stripping him before had been simple, the natural thing to do amidst desperate circumstances; the circumstances now were not desperate, and the awkwardness quotient was growing. The shirt was removed in a swift and thoroughly un-self-conscious movement. In darkness, Miaka's fingers fumbled against the somewhat haphazard bandage she had fashioned for him the previous day.

"Oh, this is impossible," she said, with a huff. "It's too dark, I can't see."

"Probe it with your mind."

"Huh?"

He regarded her coolly. She swallowed and thought. Chi appeared in her palm, and she lowered it to his skin hesitantly. She closed her eyes, reaching out with her power, feeling it fill the skin near where his wound was, letting it go deeper.

It was odd, probing the wound with her power. Miaka wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. She still found it hard, sometimes, to control the tendrils of energy she sent out. They struggled to get away from her, almost as though they were excited by their surroundings and happy to be free. _No,_ Miaka thought, _you're going to do what _I_ want._ That would usually subdue them.

She found the place where the torn flesh was knitting back together, the slight ridge that marked the already-forming scar on his side. Some patches that her energy slipped through felt different, newer than the rest, particularly in the area of the scar, but also around the tissue that Miaka identified as blood vessels, skin, nerves, and muscle. The new, regrowing tissue seemed to be healthy. She searched for signs of infection – with only a vague idea of what she was searching for – but nothing felt out of place.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and raised her head to stare at Nakago. She was sweating slightly, but she certainly did not feel on the verge of collapse. Each time she used her power, it was getting easier.

"Your assessment?" said Nakago, sounding almost bored.

"You basically managed to heal yourself from a fatal wound in less than a day."

"Look again," said Nakago.

Miaka shot him a puzzled glance, but his eyes were already closing. _What? _She felt a sudden curl of foreboding in her gut – the sense that she was on the verge of learning something terrible.

She lowered a hand to the wound again, letting herself slip into the now-familiar state of inquiry and assessment. She went through the areas around the wound again, more carefully, searching for whatever had slipped past her the first time. It was hard to find, whatever it was Nakago wanted her to see. She found herself traveling deeper and deeper into the area around the wound.

She saw it as she was passing something that might have been Nakago's left kidney: a shadow, vague and dark and ominous, hovering at the edges of her magical vision. She tried to get closer, to touch it and burn it away, but she felt herself abruptly, viciously rebuffed. The rebound was so strong, it forced her back into herself.

She sat blinking and swallowing on the floor of the cell, trying to calm her head, which felt decidedly swimmy.

"I don't understand," she said. "What the hell was _that_?"

"Do you remember kudoku?"

Miaka felt her spine stiffen a little. "Of course I remember kudoku," she said. Did he think she had forgotten the poison that had reshaped Tamahome's entire personality – that had caused him to forget her – that had turned him into Nakago's slave?

"There is no drug in this world that matches it precisely," said Nakago. "But everything in the Shijintenchisho seems to have a counterpart here, in some form or other. Take, for example, the Shinzahos – I suppose, since there were no priestesses in this world until you came along, the closest counterpart that they would have in thisworld would be the objects of power that we are currently trying to collect from the four emperors.

"The kudoku has a counterpart in this world as well. It acts far more slowly than the kudoku of the Shijintenchisho – more like a spreading infection than a magic spell. Once inside the body, it travels from the point of entry to the heart. Once the heart is corrupted, the kudoku takes full effect."

She fought to draw air into her lungs, eyes wide with horror at the picture he was painting. "Is that," she said. "Did you. How."

"Tomo's sword was coated with it." He smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression, no emotion of any kind. "Perhaps that is why the demon that possessed you abandoned your mind so quickly. I suppose he considered his task accomplished after he put a sword through my side."

"I have to sit," Miaka announced. She sat, resting her back against the wall of the cave. She remembered Tamahome under the effect of the kudoku. That had been awful, heartbreaking, terrifying. Miaka sensed that under the power of kudoku, Nakago – the most powerful of the Seiryuu seishi – would be twenty times worse than Tamahome. It would be like a repeat of the first battle, after Yui had sealed Suzaku's powers.

"It is Tenkou's ultimate revenge," said Nakago, as though reading her thoughts. "He intends, I think, to transform me into a creature entirely under his power. Which is what will happen, once the kudoku reaches my heart."

"Isn't there anything we can do to stop it?"

"Kudoku is meant to be unstoppable, as you know."

"Right," she said, "and Tamahome never existed, did he?"

She was truly angry. Her cheeks glowed with it – bright, luminous, heady rage. It was almost a relief to be angry, because it prevented her from feeling so many other, less-desirable emotions – like panic. "You," she said furiously, "have the strongest bloody resolve of anyone! And you intend to let yourself be overpowered by a _drug_?"

She noticed the flare of blue from Nakago's corner of the cell too late – felt his power collide with her, lifting her off the ground. She froze, suspended a couple inches above the ground, blood pounding in her eardrums. Nakago strode toward her and stopped, a foot from her face. "Do not presume to tell me what I do or do not intend to do, miko."

Miaka felt the terrible pressure ease, felt herself being lowered, trembling, to the ground. For a moment, she crouched, getting her bearings. Then she straightened and turned to face him.

"I'm sorry," she said, because she was sorry now. Of course he would not simply allow it to happen if he could stop it. Nakago had the strongest will of anyone she knew. She was not sure whether she should be apologizing for throwing accusations in his face, or for stabbing Nakago in the first place. That was her fault, too.

Then, because she had to know, she asked him, "How long?"

"In an ordinary human this malady would take hold in one week's time. I might forestall it two weeks, perhaps a little more."

"Two weeks," Miaka said blankly. She would not think about how little could be done in two weeks' time. She would not think about how long it would take to travel to Sairou and to Hokkan to retrieve the items that remained to be gathered.

She felt she had to turn the conversation to lighter topics; it was too grim, somehow, to ponder kudoku, too grim to think about the little time they had remaining to collect the objects and to summon the gods. They still had time, she reminded herself, two whole weeks! Why, anything could be done in two weeks – anything at all!

…They could escape from prison, to start with.

"Nakago," Miaka said with some hesitation, "is there a reason we didn't try to escape the guards who brought us in?" A suspicion was growing in her mind. "Maybe I ought not to ask, but – did you _plan_ on getting us thrown in prison?"

Nakago shot her a cool look. "I saw no harm in going along with the soldiers' desire to imprison us. It makes infiltrating the palace substantially easier."

"Sure," said Miaka. "Except for the fact that we're trapped behind bars." A memory from the _last_ time she had been trapped in this particular prison crept into her mind, and she muffled a snort. "I guess I could try to trick the prison guard with a fake thigh injury and then knock him out with a rock when he opens the door."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she flushed. "Well, I could," she mumbled, glaring at the floor. "It has precedent."*

There was a pause, during which Miaka cursed, for the second time that day, the extremely high melting points of solid rock and the extreme unlikelihood of said rocks turning into liquid phase and swallowing her.

Then Nakago began to laugh. It was such an odd sound, so _bizarre_ coming from him, that Miaka for an instant thought that he might be choking. Concerned, she slid forward, peering at him through the darkness, steeling herself up to give him a few smacks on the back that he probably wouldn't appreciate. The sound was getting louder. _Oh dear,_ she thought, _what if he's actually got something caught down there?_ She _knew_ she should have studied the Heimlich in school –

Then she caught a glimpse of his face and sat back on her heels, blinking a little.

Well, fancy that. Nakago was actually laughing. She had not thought he was _capable_ of laughter, let alone imagined that she would hear him laugh minutes after their discussion of his death. Aside from dark, mirthless laughs – or occasional mocking chuckles that usually had something to do with a particularly stupid thing Miaka had done – she did not think she had ever heard him laugh. Certainly not like this, a laughter that seemed to hold genuine mirth, a sound that called to mind a good joke instead of derision. Miaka's head tilted thoughtfully. Could the knowledge of his imminent demise have driven him mad?

Then she realized what he must be laughing at, and her cheeks – if possible – flamed even redder. She would need to start carrying ice cubes around with her if this kept happening. "It's not funny!" she exclaimed. "I was _desperate. _I had to get myself and Tamahome out of prison! And really – do you know what kind of food they serve in these cells?"

He had finally stopped laughing. But somehow the tension between them seemed to have eased again. Miaka offered a tentative smile. It was dark, but she thought she caught the ghost of a reciprocal smile flickering on Nakago's lips. "I was contemplating a rather different solution to the problem of our escape, you know," he said drily.

"What – oh." The answer, when it came to her, made Miaka wish she had a large rock to smack her head against. "Like having me blow the door off of its hinges."

"Although if you prefer the alternative, by all means –"

"_No!_" Miaka yelped. She lowered her voice. "I mean, no. That's quite all right."

She frowned thoughtfully at her hands. It would be a struggle to dredge up the power required to get them out of prison – but she supposed she _had_ recovered a little throughout the day –

"Perhaps we should wait," he suggested

She had been thinking along somewhat similar lines; even so, his suggestion startled her. "I thought we were pressed for time," she said.

"We are," he agreed, "but _do _consider the fact that at some point within the next day, we will both require some sleep. You are practically on the verge of exhaustion, and we have both had an eventful day –"

_He has a funny way of saying 'I'm tired', _Miaka thought grumpily.

"– and spending the night in the cell – though uncomfortable – would not be the worst of all possible options."

And so it was that Miaka found herself on a pallet in the same cell as Nakago, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to claim her. Fortunately the cell came equipped with two pallets, so sharing a bed was not necessary. Miaka was glad of this. Occupying the same sleeping quarters was bad enough, even though they had slept in each others' company many times on the journey to Eiyou.

She couldn't help but sneak a cautious peek in Nakago's direction from time to time. _He _could probably free them himself, if he wanted to, instead of relying on her to do it tomorrow. His powers (when they chose to surface) gave them an obvious advantage over anyone who tried to keep them contained. This thought concerned her a little.

"You really _don't_ have Nuriko or Hotohori or Boushin on your hit list, do you?" she said lightly. "You're certain I should help you escape?"

"I have no intentions toward the destruction of the child or the emperor," Nakago said, "though if the female seishi continues to irk me, there may be repercussions."

"That is hardly reassuring," she told him, voice still light, eyes dark in the gloom of the cell. "Nuriko must be confused," she murmured. "Imagine, having memories flit in and out of your head like that. She's not evil."

"Her dominant concern is toward the protection of her child," he said. It was a bland assessment, but somehow his words gave Miaka pause.

"It is not a bad thing," she told him, surprised, not sure why his words hurt as they did; his tone had not been sharp, or laced with scorn against Nuriko. Had they been, she would have risen to Nuriko's defense with all the indignation that years of friendship can inspire.

"I did not say that." His words drifted toward her through the dark that divided them, sardonic, or perhaps simply faintly amused. "But you are no longer her primary focus, miko."

In eight words, Nakago had put his finger on the thing she had been struggling to comprehend about Nuriko for the entire afternoon. The truth pained her, though she knew it shouldn't. She felt selfish and cruel, as though in returning to Hong-Nan, she had tried to latch her fingers into a world in which she had no place to be.

She thought of the moment that afternoon when she had first set eyes on Boushin, baby-faced-wide-eyed creature with chubby hands and lashes like Nuriko; Nakago might say he had not inherited the Empress' good looks, but he was not ugly but any standards. She thought of the surge of emotion she had felt in that moment, the tendril of jealousy that had sprung up around the region where her heart was, and she felt even worse. She had seen Boushin before of course, but never since Tamahome's death, and she was assailed with the impossible question: _What would our child have looked like?_

Something wet traced a smooth track down her cheek. With the back of her hand she brushed it off, thankful for the darkness that concealed her every movement. She tried to bury her face in her pillow, but she knew Nakago had caught the sniff she'd been unable to muffle in time. "Right," she said, in a voice that came out strangled. She choked on a laugh. "Damn it," she said. "I'm sorry, this is stupid – it's just – everything –"

"Sadness for what is lost is not a crime, miko."

He said it matter-of-factly, in much the same tone as everything else he had said that evening, and Miaka, at first reacting on the assumption that anything that came from Nakago's mouth would hold an element of ridicule, reacted automatically, as she often did. "Yeah," she said mockingly, "I know I'm being silly. I know –"

And then she broke off, because that was _not_ what Nakago had said, and she felt suddenly bewildered, as though, in the instant she had ceased paying attention to it, the floor had fallen away from beneath her.

"Nakago?" she said, uncertainly.

His eyes were closed now, his face lost in darkness. "I'm still here, miko," he said ironically.

"I just wanted to say, thanks." Miaka regarded him frankly. "You could have walked away earlier, when your powers came back, or left as soon as we got to Eiyou."

"My powers are not returned fully, as you saw this morning, and only then for as long as Seiryuu remains powerful," he said dryly. "I doubt they would last long if Tenkou took control of the four kingdoms. And as for the kudoku, any chance of overcoming it will hinge on Tenkou's defeat."

He was telling her that he had had no choice but continue to help her, that his goals remained the same as they always had, with the added one of circumventing Tenkou's revenge. Miaka knew the words were meant to rebuff her, but she felt strangely unperturbed by his candidness.

She bit her lip, wondering whether she should say the words that her thoughts were conjuring, wondering what she was getting into, wondering why she didn't think. "Tenkou only scorned you because of the loss of your powers," she said, and her arms felt cold, heavy like lead. "You could still return to him. He might remove the kudoku poison, in exchange for –"

"In exchange for _what_?"

Silence, on the other side of the cell, punctuated by light fast breathing. Then her voice, thin and defeated, but still with a spark to it that made the hair on the back of Nakago's neck rise up, just a little.

"In exchange for me."

-v-

She fell into a fretful sleep, only waking to the sounds of a guard stepping forward to draw her from the cell. "You are to come with me," he said, and his eyes were apologetic; she knew he, at least, remembered her. "The lady of the house wishes to speak with you. You will not be harmed."

"What about _him_?" she asked, indicating Nakago.

"The lady of the house wishes to speak with _you_," the guard repeated to Miaka, and the glare he cast toward Nakago was stony.

She turned, confused, gazing at Nakago with eyes wide and worried. "Go," he said, perfectly calm.

She nodded once, briefly. "I'll get you out of here. I'll find Hotohori and explain everything."

Then she was out of the cell, blinking in the sunlight, and being led up the prison stairs and up the marble steps in the entrance hall, toward the solar of her friend Nuriko, the Empress of Hong-Nan.

* * *

*I think this scene might occur in the manga and not in the anime, since I definitely remember reading it, but can't seem to find any evidence for it anywhere.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Oh no! Nakago's going to die in two weeks! TEH HORRORZ!

I swear, this updating schedule is doing weird things to my brain. I never used to talk like dem lolcatz. I am going slowly and inexplicably mad. MAD!

Ahem. Let's talk about reviews. First of all, thanks to _Nile1283, Helena, Desert Renaissance, _and_ tohru78_ for your great reviews for the last chapter! I always love getting feedback, even if it's just 'What the hell were you smoking when you wrote this?' or 'You totally ripped the evil-slowly-working-its-way-toward-Nakago's-heart idea off of Frodo's encounter with the Morgul blade!' (Yes. Yes I did. But this story is already so full of clichés, I don't care.)

That will be all.

…Oy. That relieved sigh of yours didn't have to be quite so _loud._

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. You made my waking up at 4 am for a test on a Monday morning so worthwhile.**

Oh dear. Although I'm flattered, I do hope you actually had a chance to study!

**2. I find it fascinating that Nakago manages to pull through the funniest of situations with a perfectly straight face.**

One of his many charms…

**3. Can someone be flippant and tomboyish as well as narcissistic and fixated on love at the same time? Nuriko in the Shijintenchisho was all four things, but in different phases of his life. He started out as narcissistic, vain and hung up on the emperor, but gradually being with his friends made him be himself…which was tomboyish (well he was a boy so this term needs analysis) and flippant.**

Hmm. You bring up a really, really good point here, one which I'm not entirely sure I have an answer for at the moment! I think it is possible to be all four things at once, even if Shijintenchisho Nuriko wasn't. My take on it is that Nuriko in this world has already married the Emperor, so although she's vain, she's a tad bit more secure than Early Shijintenchisho Nuriko and can let her real self show through, especially with close friends like Houki. And after she regains her memories (when Miaka appears) she becomes more flippant/tomboyish like Late Shijintenchisho Nuriko (with a bit of motherly protectiveness thrown in). Eh… Nuriko is complicated. (BUT SHE WOULDN'T BE SO AWESOME IF SHE WASN'T).

**4. Or was this your way of showing that even though Nuriko still tried to be ladylike in this life, her/his real nature was still hovering in her subconscious and peeking out every now and then?**

Well, I doubt she'd have been acting this absurdly if she hadn't been in the woods with only her best friend, son, and puppy for company. ^_^

**5. Why is Nakago so compliant with the guards?**

Getting imprisoned was a relatively easy way to get access to the palace. All part of his master plan. Because he's Nakago, so he has to have a master plan. (Insert evil anime villain laugh here).

**6. Why was Miaka arrested with Nakago?**

Because the author needed a plot device to give M and N some alone time to chat. I mean… It will all be explained at the beginning of the next chapter.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

Was this chapter bipolar? …I mean, we kinda go from discovering Nakago's about to die to Nakago laughing to Miaka getting depressed about not having a kid. Did that bother people?

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The characters belong to Yuu Watase, and the plot devices belong to various authors, including Diana Wynne Jones, JRR Tolkien, and JK Rowling. Basically, this story is a gigantic cauldron of stolen ideas.


	36. Watch out you might just go under

…

**XXXVI**

**Watch out; you might just go under**

…

Miaka had not known what to expect when she was led to Nuriko's quarters, certainly not a hug and a waiting pot of tea. But on seeing her, Nuriko had rushed forward and, disregarding Miaka's less than sanitary state, the Empress of Hong-Nan had thrown her arms around Miaka in a tight hug that left her gasping.

"I'm sorry!" Nuriko said. "This was all a terrible mistake!"

"We're not under arrest?" said Miaka, spirits rising.

"Hell, no! At least, you're not." Nuriko shrugged, a smile flashing across her mouth for a moment. "You're the Suzaku no Miko, Miaka! I'm one of your seishi_. _Gods – you just _vanished_ after Tamahome's death. It's so strange, you know – every time I look away from you my memories of you just start to slip away, no matter how I try to hold onto them. I told the guards to arrest Nakago, and all the while you were in the back of my mind somewhere I guess, but I completely forgot to give them instructions regarding you, and they just assumed – because you were together – that they were supposed to arrest you, too. And then they came back up here this morning, asking me if I had further orders about what to do with the girl who was with the Kutou shogun –"

Following Nuriko's train of thought was sometimes like trying not to fall off a roller coaster with no handlebars. Or perhaps Miaka had simply been in Nakago's company for too long and had grown over-accustomed to being spoken to in unhurried, measured tones. It took awhile for Miaka to pick apart the general gist of Nuriko's rambling. When she did, she frowned a little. "What about Nakago?"

Nuriko shrugged, examining her fingernails. "Oh, him. I might let him out of prison in a year or two, on conditions of good behavior and whatnot. Possibly sooner – I'm constantly surprising myself. But I think a bit of time in prison will do our dear shogun some good. You, on the other hand, were not supposed to be captured at all!" Nuriko shot a severe, reproving look down her thin nose. "_You_ were supposed to come into the incense-seller's tent with myself and Houki, escape out the back, and Nakago would be captured alone. Did you not hear me calling you into the tent?"

"I don't like incense," said Miaka, blinking. She still felt slightly bewildered. Nuriko's presence always managed to have that effect on people when they weren't used to her, and it had been over a month since Miaka had last seen Nuriko.

"Nuriko," said Miaka, jumping into the conversation before anything else happened. "I think we need to meet – _all_ of us meet, with Hotohori. It's really important. It's not just because we need the sword of Hong-Nan – well it's about that, too. But Hong-Nan has to be warned about Tenkou, and the demon invasions, like the one in Souen. And Nakago –"

She hesitated. Nakago was obviously a touchy subject with Nuriko. Worse, Miaka did not know what she herself thought of Nakago half the time, and she hovered over a number of possible things she could say.

Nuriko saved her by summoning a servant and ordering breakfast, in a bossy, friendly way that was instantly obeyed. Miaka, who had not realized until that moment until how hungry she was, began to relax – at least, until Nuriko turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

"Nakago, I take it, has been… helping you. Complete your mission."

Miaka nodded.

"Do you have any idea _why_ he's helping you?"

"He claims he wants his powers back," said Miaka. "And the only way to get them back is by summoning the gods and undoing the seal on Seiryuu. But that's not all. Nuriko, Tenkou did something to him, something horrible – it's like some sort of slow-acting kudoku. He'll only be free of it if Tenkou dies."

"So he's with us until this Tenkou creature's defeated, and then it's a big, delightful seishi free-for-all."

Miaka shrugged and began helping herself to rice seasoned with lemongrass. "I don't think it'll be that bad. Anyway, I told him I'd kill him if he ever touched Hong-Nan."

"Miaka," said Nuriko, resting her chin on clasped hands and fluttering her eyelashes, "do you _love_ him?"

Half-eaten rice sprayed across the table like the output from a loose garden-hose. "HELL, NO!" Miaka cried. "What _ever_ made you – he's the one who – he's – gods, Nuriko! Who do you think I am? Tamahome – Tamahome's been dead for two months."

Her voice dipped a little over the word "Tamahome" and she frowned, hoping Nuriko hadn't noticed. But Nuriko was busy pulling grains of rice out of her sleeve, her hair, and her bodice. Miaka watched, torn between chagrin and amusement, as Nuriko brushed the front of her dress meticulously, checking over every ruffle for remaining grains of rice. It was a fastidious and somewhat vain gesture, so typical of Nuriko that Miaka almost smiled –

And then Nuriko opened her mouth and, in typical Nuriko fashion, managed to turn the conversation upside down.

"It's hard for you, being back here. Isn't it?"

Miaka froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?" she said slowly.

Nuriko shrugged. "You got all quiet as soon as we passed the city boundaries yesterday. Like returning to this place was upsetting you. And you seemed so distracted when we got to the marketplace, I thought you were going to start bumping into things."

"Did I really?"

"Miaka, do you blame yourself for his death?"

Miaka stared at her bowl, feeling cornered. She put her chopsticks down and stood up. "Maybe we can finish this conversation _after _we deal with the demons that are about to invade Eiyou?" she said.

– or tried to say. For the instant that she tried to get to her feet, Nuriko swooped around the table to force her back into it. "Oh no you don't!" Nuriko cried. "You've hardly touched your meal. Eat up, you look thin as a leaf!"

Miaka glared at the meat in her bowl. It seemed strangely unappetizing now. She toyed with her food, stirring it around to make it look like she was eating. Far from putting Nuriko at ease, this behavior only seemed to increase the number of concerned looks Nuriko was aiming at her, so Miaka sighed and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed, not really tasting it.

"That's better." Nuriko sat back. "We never really talked about what happened, you know, when Tamahome died. It just happened, and then we all found out that he was dead. Nobody asked of course, because how could we really? – you were just so upset. But it's clear the whole thing is still weighing on you even now, two months later. Whatever happened, it's not your fault and - Miaka," said Nuriko, peering at her worriedly, "are you sure you're all right?"

She would be all right, if she could only survive this conversation! It was ridiculous, really. Miaka supposed Nuriko was only trying to be helpful – in her usual heedless, in-your-face sort of way – but it didn't matter; Miaka could not, _would_ not, think about Tamahome's death now. Even the thought of discussing it made her feel sick. It was a subject that was better left hidden, untouched, and forgotten, like a dead animal at the bottom of a well.

And to think, just last night, Miaka had been bothered by the fact that Nuriko's attention had shifted from her. Now that she had Nuriko's attention, Miaka wanted nothing more than for Boushin to wander into the room and demand that Nuriko entertain him.

"I'm fine," said Miaka. "Thanks, Nuriko, but –"

"I just worry about you, you know. Any friend would worry." Nuriko sighed. "I don't want you to go the rest of your life thinking you have to be sad, just because Tamahome's gone. It's all right for you to be happy without him, you know. I'm sure Tamahome wouldn't want your memories of him to haunt you for the rest of your life. He would want you to move on."

"Move on?" Miaka repeated blankly.

"You know what I mean. Tamahome would tell you to stop dwelling on his death and to not feel guilty if you happen to find happiness elsewhere."

"Happiness elsewhere?"

The conversation had taken such a ridiculous turn that Miaka didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She supposed she ought to be offended – outraged on Tamahome's behalf by the suggestion that she might ever meet someone who would possibly replace him. And she was, a little. But the whole thing seemed suddenly hilarious, too. Miaka wondered if she was slowly going mad.

"I suppose," she mused, "I could marry Tasuki – he'd be able to steal me anything I ever wanted, although the fact that he loathes women might be a small impediment to our future happiness. Or Nakago –" She had a brief mental image of Nakago getting down on one knee to propose. The thought was so ludicrous, so utterly impossible, Miaka almost choked with laughter. "They'd have to call off the wedding because we'd have killed each other before reaching the altar!" She was laughing now, in that uncontrollable way that people who are mildly distraught sometimes do. She couldn't tell if the sounds that came out of her mouth were mirthful or bitter or ironic. And once she had begun on this train of thought, her mouth seemed to take on a mind of its own, forcing her to continue until she had run through every possible, ludicrous option. "Who else?" she said, wiping her eyes. "I suppose there's Chichiri. Are monks even allowed to marry? Mitsukake is already married, so I guess that rules him out. Oh, I forgot about Hotohori! Also happily married, but I suppose that an emperor can have two wives more easily than normal people –"

She suddenly realized what she had said and clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Nuriko with something akin to horror. There was no way to retract the words. They hung over the table, pressing down on the two women. A stiff silence filled the room.

"Nuriko, I'm sorry," Miaka said. "I didn't mean –"

Nuriko seemed to blink herself free of a daze. "It's fine," she said, but her words seemed almost brittle.

Miaka wanted to apologize again; she had not been serious – she had meant the whole thing as a joke, really, something to illustrate how absurd it was to even _think_ that she might be interested in someone who was not Tamahome. But before she could put the words together, Nuriko dazzled her with a smile and asked if she was done with breakfast.

"I suppose," said Miaka. And, because she could think of nothing else to say to fill the strained silence, Miaka asked, "How _is_ Hotohori these days?"

"Oh, just fine," said Nuriko, a little distantly. "Of course, he's very busy. Emperor duties and all."

"Yes." Hotohori always _had_ taken duty seriously. Miaka sighed. "I need to talk to him, Nuriko. To warn him of what's coming."

For a moment, there was silence from the other woman, and Miaka worried that Nuriko hadn't heard her. Nuriko looked pensive. "Of course you must meet with him!" she said, softly and thoughtfully. "There is a meeting this morning, with his councilors, that's going to last until very late. But I can see about this afternoon."

-v-

But when afternoon came, Hotohori was still in meetings, and Miaka learned from Nuriko that he would be busy until the next day. It left Miaka frustrated; she knew time, at least for Nakago, was running short. She was beginning to suspect that Nuriko hadn't told Hotohori, or at least hadn't told him everything. Miaka knew that Hotohori of the Shijintenchisho would have dropped everything to see her. And yet – if Hotohori lacked his memories when she was not around, perhaps Nuriko's words had been ineffectual. Miaka knew there was only one solution. She would have to seek out Hotohori himself and remind him personally of who she was.

The trouble was, the Hong-Nan palace differed slightly from her memory of it in the Shijintenchisho. Mostly these were subtle differences – the absence of the Suzaku shrine most notably – but they added difficulties to her navigation. The room she believed was the throne room had now become the dining hall, and the remains of the midday meal distracted her for a good half hour before Miaka finally managed to tear herself away.

She tried to find the throne room again, off the directions of a passing courtier, but she took a wrong turn somewhere and found herself, inexplicably, in the library. The smell of old books made her mildly apprehensive (discovering The Universe of the Four Gods last year had made her wary of libraries in general) but Miaka took a moment to look around. Most of the tables were empty, but there was one table that was occupied, and its occupant looked strangely familiar –

"Chiriko?" she said, a little uncertainly. His back was towards her, and he was engulfed in a book nearly the size of his torso – but at her words he turned towards her, with a beaming kind of joy. He stopped, a few inches from her, as though awkward or unsure what to do – but she closed the gap between them and swept him up in a hug. She could not help but register how much he had grown since last she'd seen him. Soon he would be as tall as she was.

Chiriko of this world was no longer a genius, but nor was he stupid. His eyes shone with an intelligence that outstripped most of his peers. He had, he told Miaka in tones of excitement, taken the imperial examination the previous month. He was working at the palace now, an official-in-training.

"I can tell you're studying hard," she said, staring at the mounds of books, which threatened to swallow him up.

"Oh, this," he said dismissively. "This is just a side project. What brings you to the palace?"

It took awhile for Miaka to recount what she was doing in the palace. When she had finished, it took her another couple of minutes to explain her current problem to Chiriko. "And I think that you can help me," she said. "If I want an audience with Hotohori, where should I go? I doubt he remembers me at all – that's the problem."

"I know," said Chiriko. "I don't remember you either. It's odd, isn't it?"

"Very odd," she agreed.

She felt a hint of guilt as she uttered the words. _She_ knew the real reason none of the Suzaku seishi could remember her, even if _they_ didn't. It was because she had sealed Suzaku – a fact which she had told no one, save Nakago.

"The Emperor?" she prompted, before Chiriko could make further inquiries.

"He is in meetings quite often," Chiriko said. "It probably wouldn't be wise to interrupt. You should send him a message."

"That won't work," she said, remembering Hotohori's response to the Emperor of Kutou's messenger. "He won't remember me if my name is just mentioned."

"If the letter's from _you_, it might work." Chiriko brightened, snapping his fingers. "We'll experiment. Send _me_ a message."

"Right now?"

"Get out of sight, have a guard deliver it to me. I'll read it, and if I find you afterwards, you know it succeeded."

She planted a kiss on his forehead, to which he made a face, and so she had to tousle his hair to embarrass him further. "You're still a genius, you know," she laughed. "Even if your entrance exam scores weren't perfect in this world."

Chiriko shrugged. "Father will get over it someday."

She dashed off a hasty letter in rough Chinese – _Chiriko- Meet me out by the hyacinths in the garden! -Miaka_ – and gave a guard explicit orders to hand it over to the young lad with the big book by the window. Chiriko joined her, minutes later, scowling, the letter waving between forefinger and thumb. "You call this writing?" he said. "I almost went to the fountain by mistake."

She raised an eyebrow. "You know I've only been here a year and a half."

"Children learn to write in a year and a half," he said angelically.

"Something happens to your mind when you're my age," Miaka said, waving a hand vaguely. "You sort of stop being able to learn things at the same speed. "You don't have to believe me," she said, as he eyed her skeptically. "But it's true."

"Well, you're hardly older than I am."

"I beg your pardon?" She drew herself up to her full height. It would have been an impressive gesture, were it not for Chirko's recent growth spurt and the fact that Miaka had never been the tallest of women, even in thick shoes. "I am sixteen years old," she proclaimed, "almost seventeen, and you, Mister Chiriko, are what? Eight?"

"I'm nine, actually, and I_ can_ write. I could teach you." He settled down on the bench beside her. "Your character for _garden_ is messed up, to begin with."

"Horrors," said Miaka, deciding it would be wise to humor him. "I guess I won't be meeting Hotohori in the garden, in that case."

"Here," said Chriko, nibbling a pen thoughtfully, "I'll write the letter, and you can copy it. At least then, it will seem to be from you."

She hugged him, for the second time that day, grinning at the face he made. She couldn't help letting out a soft "Aww," as she let him go; he might have been older, but he was still Chiriko, brave and adorable and smart. She wondered if he was ever glad for the loss of his powers. He seemed more normal somehow, less offset from the rest of the world. It had to be lonely, being a genius.

He blinked at her with dignity. "Yes?" he said, sounding patient and exasperated and a trifle bewildered, like a normal nine-year-old boy faced with a peculiar sort of maternal madness that he does not quite understand. Miaka forced her face into an expression that was slightly less adoring.

"You're the best!" she said emphatically.

"Ahuh." He was already absorbed in the letter, unknowingly rubbing ink across his chin from the pen nib. She did not tell him this; it made him look distinguished and scholarly, and even more adorable. Helpfully she reached forward to flick some of his hair out of his eyes, and he glared at her, and she grinned and leaned back on the bench.

The letter was ready, stamped, and sent to Hotohori within the hour, and Miaka decided this success called for a celebration in the form of second lunch. They took a picnic on the lawn, ordering food carried out to them from the dining hall. They had only finished their first course when Nuriko emerged from the inner sanctum, spotted them, and made a beeline for their blanket.

"What's this, a reunion party?" Nuriko bunched up her skirt, somehow managing to flop down upon the blanket with the appearance of being dainty. Miaka saw the move and envied it; grace did not come naturally to her, as it did to Nuriko. "You ought to be ashamed," said Nuriko. "Forgetting to invite your Empress, you know. I could throw you all in prison."

"Nuriko," Chiriko said wonderingly. "It is odd to see you as a woman."

"You see me as a woman every day, brat!"

"Well, yes," he said, nibbling daintily on a cracker. "But now that Miaka is around I remember your other self."

"You sound weird, too," Nuriko said, making a face. "More like Chiriko."

"I'm not sure why that surprises you," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Don't take that tone with me, whippersnapper." Nuriko grabbed Chiriko by the hair and began rubbing vigorously at his chin, to his evident befuddlement. "Don't give me that look, you have _ink_ all over your face again."

"What are you like when I'm _not_ here?" said Miaka, feeling slightly bewildered. She had come to the palace only rarely since her wedding with Tamahome, had seen Chiriko once or twice and Nuriko slightly more than that, but she had never seen Chiriko and Nuriko together at the palace; she had not even known they were particularly close.

"Chiriko's been given a special project, archiving all the really old scrolls that no one else wants to read." Nuriko shrugged. "To save him from dying of boredom, I make him tea."

Chiriko raised his still-ink-smeared chin. "I'm not dying of boredom! The Emperor's scrolls are very fascinating."

"At least with tea you get to stare at my beautiful face, instead of at musty old scrolls."

"I do not think that is an improvement."

When a guard clad in uniform made to approach them, Miaka was grateful. Not only was her head beginning to ache from the bright sun and Nuriko's ever-more-indignant shouts, but the guard bore in his hand an envelope bearing an unmistakable golden seal. It was the Emperor's seal, the seal of Hong-Nan, and it glinted like the fiery cast of Suzaku's eyes.

"It worked, Chiriko!" she said, "He wrote back!"

While Chiriko explained their experiment to Nuriko, Miaka tugged the letter open – the wax parted easily in her fingers. The letter was hastily penned – the slight scrawl hinted at Hotohori's excitement.

"_Miaka_," she read, "_Of course we must meet. Unavoidable appointments have me occupied well into the afternoon, but after the sun passes the fourth hour you must come to the throne room so that we may discuss all that you have described. – Ever yours._" She squinted at the beautifully drawn signature that was nearly as gorgeous as he was, and shook her head a little. "Very Hotohori."

"Well, Miaka," said Nuriko, a touch too brightly. "We'll just have to find something to do until the fourth hour, in that case! I think you should come back to my room and play with Boushin."

"Oh," said Miaka, unsure quite how to reply. After the events of the previous morning, she was not sure she wanted to be alone with Nuriko again. She still felt awful whenever she thought of her words earlier.

And then there was Boushin. Miaka wasn't sure if she wanted to see Boushin today – not after her conversation with Nakago in the jail cell. There was a danger of loving something that wasn't yours, and Miaka felt almost like playing with Boushin would be wrong, a violation of Nuriko's good will.

"Or we could have after-supper-cakes!" Nuriko said. "Houki found some at the market that she says are godly."

Miaka tried to imagine the proper wife of Hotohori's brother ever describing anything as 'godly'. She was so full at this point that she ought not to have been tempted by the cakes – she ought not to be able to eat anything for at least twelve hours – and she tried to tell Nuriko this. But somewhere from her brain to her mouth, the words "I don't really think so" turned into "That sounds delicious!" and she found herself bidding Chiriko farewell.

A short time later she found herself in Nuriko's quarters, the plate of sweetcakes before her. Houki was right, they really _were _godly. Miaka picked up a second one and placed the sweet goodness on her tongue as Nuriko stepped into the next room to check on Boushin. "Don't eat too many!" Nuriko called over her shoulder. "I need some for tomorrow." Miaka acknowledged these words with an absent-minded "_Hmm…_"

She still needed to get Nakago out of prison – she _had_ promised, at least, to try. The letter she and Chiriko had drafted had alluded to him only vaguely. She would have to prepare an argument as to _why_ Hotohori ought to let Nakago out of prison. Hopefully a more successful argument than the one she had given Nuriko…

Even as she thought this, Miaka heard a screech from behind her. Miaka whirled, thinking something was horribly wrong with Boushin. Then she realized Nuriko was staring aghast at the cake plate –

– The _empty_ cake-plate...

Miaka felt herself blinking, a little bit stupidly. There were crumbs all down her front, which meant she must have been the culprit, but really, that had been an abominable lack of self-restraint, even for her. She could not help but feel a trifle bewildered, the sort of bewilderment one can only feel when one finds one has consumed an entire plate of sweet-cakes in the space of thirty seconds.

Nuriko started to laugh. Her laughter sounded strange to Miaka; there was genuine amusement in it, but also concern. "I forgot how much trouble you could get into in the space of thirty seconds," she said. "Here, have some water, you must be so thirsty. Gods, that was, what, twenty cakes? I guess you were making up for not eating much this morning."

"I'm sorry," Miaka said, blushing and taking a sip. The water tasted slightly odd to her, and she made a face. "What _is _this?" she said.

"Medicine for the stomachache you're going to have from eating twenty cakes!" Nuriko said severely. "I give it to Boushin all the time."

Miaka made a face and drank a few more sips, but the drink tasted nasty, and she didn't like it. Nuriko was distracted; Boushin was crying, and when Nuriko stepped into the next room again, Miaka poured the rest of the medicine into the nearest potted plant, which seemed to perk up immediately.

"Show-off," muttered Miaka to the plant. Miaka was feeling decidedly non-perky at this point. She had a vague thought of checking on Nakago before her meeting with Hotohori, though she didn't want to tell this to Nuriko, so she settled for saying, "Nuriko, I think I should go back to my room."

"Oh, no you don't. What on earth is there to do there, when here you have me to admire, and Boushin to pamper?"

"Boushin sounds hungry," Miaka said grinning. "I think I've been a bad influence on him. No, Nuriko." She really was starting to feel odd. "I really think I must go back to my room."

She left, despite Nuriko's encouragement to stay, and Nuriko, occupied by a sudden tantrum from Boushin, did not follow her. Miaka started down the path in a hurry, for her stomach was really starting to hurt now. Perhaps she would forgo the visit to Nakago's prison, after all.

She was only halfway to her rooms when a bout of dizziness forced her to sit down. She put her head to her knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass and then tried to stand up again but immediately fell back down.

She was on the stretch of path between the gardens and the guest rooms, the stretch of path that swung right by the koi pond. Miaka knelt by the edge of the water, struggling to regain control of her mind, which seemed to be blurring along with her vision. She stared at the rippling water in front of her, blinking confusion from her eyes. The shimmering water reminded her of how horribly thirsty she was. Water would help, she thought dazedly, water would surely bring her back to her senses. She had heard about heat stroke, and it had been hot in the garden earlier, and the food had been salty; perhaps that was it. She kneeled into the pond, not caring that her dress was soaking wet, nor that the water was stagnant and probably full of bacteria. She really was desperately thirsty. She cupped the water in trembling hands – hands which seemed to be slipping in and out of focus – growing darker, hard to see –

She did not even have time to bring her hands to her mouth before unconsciousness claimed her.

This would not have been so much of a problem, had Miaka not been kneeling in a pond, but when one passes out face-first in the water the clock of one's life begins to tick very fast indeed. The skin pales, the heart winds down, and the body metabolism drifts towards its inevitable conclusion. There was no one on the path to see her fall, no one nearby to see the tendrils of her hair drifting, like russet pond weed, upon the water's surface. Only one person could sense the flickering of her chi, and he was deep underground in the castle prison, awaiting his release that afternoon.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Man, that was an exhausting chapter to edit (cough, rewrite). And oh dear, a cliffhanger. Will Miaka be okay? Will she survive her second run-in with the koi pond? Will she be eaten by a giant carp? Or a pirhana?

Nakago is sadly absent from this chapter (but not from Miaka's thoughts! Heh heh). Fear not, he'll be back in fine form in the next chapter. (I definitely couldn't keep my fast-updating-writing sanity without Nakago around). I did want to give a couple of the other Suzaku seishi a bit of screen time, however. Particularly Chiriko ^_^.

_Nile1283, Helena, Desert Renaissance, and tohru78 – _thank you so, so much for continuing to review this story! Your reviews are awesome and are definitely mostly what's keeping me going at this point.

I received a lot of remarks on the tone of this story (the flipping between lighthearted /silly and dark /desperate). Although I do agree that people switch between emotions all the time and that humor and darkness can (and probably should) be found in the same story, I also agree with _Helena_, who says that there are two completely different tones to this story. There are. When I started this story two years ago, I was intending for it to be fairly serious/heavy/etc, which was the writing style I started with. But my funny bone has a habit of saying "SCREW THIS! I WANT MORE SCREEN TIME!" halfway through the things I write… including this story, apparently. I think there is probably a way to make the funny and the serious a bit more integrated and still write decently well (JK Rowling did it with Harry Potter, and George R Martin, despite killing off half his characters dramatically and tragically, has occasional lines that make me snort food through my nose). Clearly I'm not quite there yet though (or I would be a multimillion dollar author and probably not posting things on ^_~). Anyway, I'll do my best to make future chapters a bit more balanced. Do let me know, in the future, if you find specific scenes tonally jarring. It's quite helpful.

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. I don't think the soldier would actually call Nuriko "the lady of the house" – it seems too casual.**

Oops. Agreed.

**2. When will Miaka finally see Hotohori?**

In the next chapter.

**3. I can almost see Nakago and Miaka's many blonde kids, all of them with her disposition, driving Nakago crazy…**

Lol! The thought of Nakago as a father always makes me giggle uncontrollably. Let's take a vote. If M and N were to have kids, how many would they have, and what would their genders be?

**4. I accept your explanation about Nuriko. It actually makes sense.**

Haha I guess I should be glad I can still make sense while BSing at 2 AM? -_-

**5. Nakago's two-weeks-left-to-live ultimatum is heart-breaking, especially since the guy has just started being minimally nice.**

Indeed. But look on the bright side! Perhaps the constant reminder of his own mortality will make it easier for his perspectives on life/Miaka to shift. …Although I suppose that won't matter in the end, if he ultimately kicks the bucket.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

Did you find the Nuriko/Miaka interaction at the beginning weird or OOC? I think that was the section I struggled with most in this chapter.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase. And not me. Sad, isn't it?


	37. Better think twice

…

**XXXVII**

**Better think twice**

…

Nakago had felt his powers flickering to the surface since that morning, appearing and fading like waves upon a beach. It would have been trivial for him to break out of his cell during one of the moments his power intensified, but instead, Nakago chose to wait. He had sent a message to Saihitei via one of the guards after the miko's departure, and the man had returned with the message that Nakago would have an audience with the Emperor that afternoon. And there were hopeful signs, signs that the fallback plan Nakago had mapped out in Kutou was beginning to fall into place. He had heard whispers earlier, among the guards, about foreign royalty visiting the palace. And once or twice that morning, he had glimpsed certain chi signatures hovering just at the edge of his magical range – signatures he thought he recognized…

His extended stay in prison had given Nakago plenty of time to explore the palace – mentally, if not in person. It was easy enough to close his eyes and send his senses outward, to use his ability to identify and try to track people moving throughout the palace. Seishi were easy to identify; there was something different about them; they stood out from the crowd like gems in a field of pebbles. Even the Suzaku seishi, who lacked their powers, still appeared distinct to Nakago's magical eye.

He sensed Saihitei first. The Emperor of Hong-Nan was easy to identify, a stable presence that he located near the center of the palace. He moved little as the morning progressed. Perhaps he was in a meeting, or at his desk. Nakago could sense a living person's _chi_, but the details – what they were doing, their current surroundings – were lost to him.

He found the Empress next, farther away and higher up – perhaps she was in a drawing room. Her chi signature matched her exactly: bright, capricious, strong, and erratic. It seemed to be going in all directions at once. Watching it, Nakago felt his forehead prickle with the beginnings of a headache. He looked away quickly.

Beside Nuriko, or very close by, Nakago sensed the priestess of Suzaku. _She_ was the easiest of all to identify – a distinctive, brilliant speck, red in a sea of brown. He was pleased to see that her chi had been fully restored by last night's rest – though he noted, with some disquiet, that there were subtle undertones to the miko's chi which suggested she was distressed – either physically or mentally.

He had sensed similar hints of distress the previous afternoon. Even before they reached Eiyou, the miko had been on edge. He had caught the way her eyes lingered on Boushin throughout their journey, a trifle longer than was necessary. Her unease had intensified as they entered Eiyou. Now, Nakago wondered what had discomfited her more – the Emperor's son, or their proximity to the place where she had lived with Tamahome.

It seemed she was still distressed. Nakago wondered, almost indifferently what she and the Empress were discussing that could have induced such malaise. He kept an eye on the miko as the day progressed, noting that unlike the Emperor, she did not remain in a constant location, but rather moved throughout the palace as though driven by wolves. He sensed her backtracking a couple times and wondered, with some amusement, what she thought she was doing. Was she really so directionally challenged that she could not navigate a palace that she had visited countless times?

Around noon, the miko encountered another Suzaku seishi – Chiriko, Nakago guessed, since the aura was vaguely childlike – and it was not long before the two of them were joined by the Empress. Nakago sensed the miko's chi stabilizing, the residual, bitter undercurrents quickly dissolving. He wondered what had happened to improve her mood.

He ceased to follow her closely after that, allowing his thoughts to drift along other, darker avenues instead. So it was pure luck that, towards mid-afternoon and quite close to the time when he was scheduled to meet with Saihitei – Nakago happened to glance at the miko's chi signature and noticed something odd.

Her chi was beginning to fade. It was draining away, so subtly that Nakago almost did not register the change at first – a slow dimming, like the evening sky at sunset. He sensed, too, an unhealthiness to the miko that was utterly distinct from the unease he had felt earlier. Had she suddenly taken ill?

And then, without warning, her chi began to fade rapidly. Nakago had felt this in people before, but only when they had suffered a serious, often fatal, injury. He did not stop to wonder how the miko could have sustained such an injury as he surged to his feet.

It took only a second for him to blast the prison door from his hinges, and even less time to ascend the long staircase to the palace gardens. Only his quick reflexes saved him from colliding with the guards who were – at that moment – marching down the stairs to escort him to the Emperor. Nakago did not even bother to incapacitate them, merely brushed past them without a backward glance. Distantly, he registered the men's shouts as they gave the alarm about his escape.

The miko was beneath the water, russet curls floating limply on the surface and tangling with the weeds that choked the pond. If she still breathed, there was no sign.

He pulled her out by the shoulder, and her pale cheek landed against his arm. Her hair was dripping and wet, her face bloodless. He rolled her to her back on the tiled walkway and placed a hand to her chest. Her heart fluttered weakly beneath his fingers, but still she was not breathing, as though in their brief journey beneath the lake surface her lungs had forgotten how.

Briefly, Nakago closed his eyes. The symbol on his forehead shimmered – flickered – glowed. He was weaker than he had been in the Shijintenchisho, but at this moment, any power would suffice. He slammed raw power into her, through his hand, towards her heart.

A second's silence. Nakago raised his hand, forcing himself not to contemplate the possibility that she was beyond reach as he prepared to deliver another jolt to her heart. And then –

She gasped, a great heaving intake of breath that caused her to choke on the water that was in her lungs. She expelled it in a wet racking cough that had her cheek pressed flush against the worn stones of the courtyard. Water spilled from her mouth, mixed, shortly after, with vomit.

"Ugh," she rasped, blinking. "Nakago? What's going on?"

Nakago said nothing. He felt relief sweep over him, a relief so strong, so overwhelming that for a moment he was rendered practically unable to speak. Distantly, he registered that his heart was pounding. He stared into the miko's eyes, which were luminous and confused – took in the fluttering of her dark lashes against her pale skin, the way her chest rose and fell as she heaved in air. Every movement of hers seemed to bring with it another jolt of relief. She was alive, she had not drowned –

She had not managed to destroy herself and their mission through her own incompetence.

Nakago felt a surge of fury that – for a moment – overwhelmed the relief he was feeling. How could she be so careless as to wander into the pond?

"Nakago?" the miko said again. "Why… am I lying on the ground?"

She retched again and then turned, somewhat miserably, to look at him. For the first time, he noticed her inability to focus on his face, as though the miko was slightly dizzy. He remembered, too, the ill feeling that he had sensed in her chi, which had begun almost an hour before. The miko certainly hadn't been drowning then. Could she have taken ill and then accidentally stumbled into the pond?

He realized that she was awaiting an answer to her question and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You are lying on the ground," he said coolly, "because you nearly drowned and because I do not wish my clothes to be covered in vomit."

That seemed to make sense to her, or perhaps she was simply too busy dealing with another bout of sick to offer a retort. Her chi signature was weak still, her face very pale, but – upon further examination – Nakago realized that her chi had ceased fading and seemed to have stabilized. He closed his eyes briefly for a moment.

They were accumulating quite an audience, but – perhaps unsurprisingly – their watchers seemed reluctant to approach them. A couple of the braver men – the guards who had arrived to escort Nakago to the Emperor – took reluctant steps forward, but stopped when Nakago met their eyes. Perhaps it was his glare that gave them pause; more likely it was the word _kokoro, _which continued to blaze upon his forehead.

The miko also noticed the soldiers that surrounded them. She looked puzzled at first, and then her face seemed to clear and she gave Nakago a weak smile. "You're out of prison," she said. "How is that possible?"

"Before this afternoon, I had believed it impossible to drown in two feet of water. Clearly we are both suffering from misconceived notions of how the world operates."

She glared at him miserably and tried to struggle to her feet, but she only succeeded in dragging herself to a sitting position. Nakago might have returned her to her room immediately, but she was still very green and swallowing convulsively. He would wait another five minutes, and then return her to her room.

She had really outdone herself this time, he thought. Every part of her was dripping. Water from her hair puddled onto the surrounding flagstones, draining slowly back into the pond. Her garments, soaked and delicate – no doubt a gift from the Empress – clung to her wetly like a second skin, throwing her figure into sharp relief. Others in the audience had also noticed the revealing state of the miko's attire; Nakago was not blind to the soldiers' covert glances and did not need to think hard to understand what they meant. It irked him inexplicably, the way their eyes lingered over her exposed flesh. With a perverse amusement, he summoned a ball of blue fire to his hand – a threatening gesture, but not one that he meant to act on. Regardless, it had the desired effect. The watching men backed away with curses and mutters, and Nakago was able to turn his attention back to the miko again.

She did not seem to have noticed the display, or if she had, she didn't remark on it. Her eyes were closed, and both her hands – pale – were pressed against the bridge of her nose. Nakago frowned, checking her forehead for fever – but there was none.

"What happened?" he asked her, hoping to determine the cause of her sudden illness. He unfastened his cloak and draped it around her shoulders as he talked. It would not due for the miko to get chilled on top of being poisoned – and the cloak had the added benefit of diverting any untoward gazes that might be directed her way.

"I was walking back to my rooms from Nuriko's," she said. Her eyes were still closed, and her words were slightly muffled by her hands. "I didn't feel well, and then I got dizzy, and the pond was right here, and I suddenly felt so thirsty that I tried to take a drink –"

"You tried to take a drink from the castle pond."

She shot him a peeved look and closed her eyes again. "Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, but nothing was really making sense anymore." He saw her frown behind her hands. "I think I ate something… bad."

Nakago heard her hesitation and wondered if she, too, suspected some sort of foul play in the manner of her illness. The word "poison" hung over them, an unvoiced specter. "What have you eaten?" he asked her. It dawned on Nakago, a second later, that this was a poor way to narrow down suspects. The miko ate more in an hour than most grown men could eat in a day, and an answer of 'everything' would not have surprised him.

"Oh, lots of things," she said vaguely, confirming his suspicions. "I took lunch with Chiriko and Nuriko.* I hope they're all right."

Nakago saw a palace door open. Through narrowed eyes, he watched the slim figure of Nuriko hurry toward them across the garden. "The Empress is well," he said.

"Oh, I'm glad. You need to help me up, I'm supposed to meet with Hotohori in an hour, and – well." She said the last word with a helpless wave toward her sodden, pale frame.

Nakago saw another figure gliding toward them at a rapid pace. He wondered whether the soldiers had alerted the entire castle of his escape and the miko's mishap. "Your meeting with the Emperor may be sooner than you anticipate," he said drily.

"Huh?" Miaka's looked up sharply. Despite her illness, Nakago saw her eyes widen with unadulterated joy. "Hotohori!"

"Miaka."

Nakago watched, impassive and unmoving, as the Emperor of Hong-Nan knelt on the flagstones – a vision in robes of gold and red silk – and took the miko's hands in his. The Emperor's eyes were wide with amazement. With a quick, almost involuntary movement, the Emperor swept a hand forward, pushing the miko's hair wet hair from her face so that it was illuminated by the afternoon sunlight – as though Lord Sahitei was trying to confirm that the miko was not an illusion.

"Miaka," he said wonderingly.

"Miaka no baka!" The Empress had arrived. A wildness shone in Nuriko's eyes, a slight fear to her voice that was not just the product of her seishi bond with the miko, but something deeper. She was in such a hurry to get to the miko, she almost shoved her husband aside in the process. Nakago's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, as they did when he was bringing others into sharper focus. A strange behavior for the Empress.

Lord Saihetei's eyes fell on Nakago. Nakago did not miss the hardening of his eyes, nor the slight tension that crept into his jawline. The miko seemed to sense the tension between the two men. She clutched at Lord Sahitei's sleeve. "It's all right," she said, in a quick voice that was weakened by shivering. "Nakago saved me from drowning. He's been traveling with me."

"I see." A brief glance up, in Nakago's direction, and to his utter amazement, the Emperor smiled at him and bent his head slightly. "In that case, I must thank him."

Was the man a fool? Nakago wondered. Or was he simply weak? So overcome by his love for the miko that he was willing to forgive the little matter of his death at Nakago's hands?

"Hotohori!" said the miko. Once again, Nakago wondered at how the mere presence of her seishi was seemingly enough to bring her back from the brink of death. A little of the color was already starting to return to her face, and her eyes were practically glowing. "We _must_ talk," she said brightly, "because there is loads and loads of information you need to know. I think you got my letter -"

"Of course we shall talk." The Emperor spoke in a careful, gentle tone that caused Nakago's lips to compress ever-so-slightly with annoyance. "But first I would like for you to rest and get well, and I would like to comprehend what transpired here. Did you fall victim to an attack, a trap?"

The miko shook her head. "All my own silly fault," she said. "You'd think I'd have learned to avoid ponds by now, but they seem to creep up on me."

Nakago saw the Empress twitch. It was a slight enough movement, but for an instant he had almost thought she was trying to conceal a flinch. Intriguing. He catalogued it in the back of his mind for further analysis.

"You really ought to rest and recover," said the Emperor in concern. "I can discuss the matter alone with Nakago in your absence –"

"I am really quite well!" said the miko. The look of alarm that flashed through the miko's eyes irritated Nakago as much as it amused him. Did she _still_ fear for the Emperor's safety?

As though to reinforce her words, she dragged herself to standing. It would have been more impressive, had she not been using the nearest firm object – which happened to be Nakago's arm – to pull herself upright. She swayed a little on her feet but somehow, miraculously, didn't fall. She glared proudly into the Emperor's eyes. "See?"

"You are dizzy," said the Emperor evenly, and Nakago thought, _Perhaps the fool is not so inobservant as I previously believed. _

"Oh," said the miko, squinting. "What gave it away?"

The Empress answered for Hong-Nan's leader, reaching forward to grab Miaka's wrist as though to drag her forcibly off to rest. "You are clearly seeing double," she said, "and you also chose to hang onto _him_ instead of to one of us, because we would've noticed that your feet couldn't support your own weight."

"I'm not seeing double," said the Suzaku no Miko, less convincingly than ever. Nakago could feel the tension in the muscles that clung to his arm, the slight tremors that radiated down the miko's shoulder through her fingers – could feel her trembling as she stood. She seemed to be holding herself up by sheer force of will.

Nakago – heretofore silent – decided it was time to step in. "With all due respect, this meeting cannot wait. The Suzaku no Miko is at the heart of the matters we must discuss; if she believes herself capable of attending, it is fitting that she also be present."

The miko was staring him with a combination of gratitude and astonishment – mostly the latter. Nakago met the Emperor's eyes and caught the man's slight nod of assent. "I will tell my advisors to prepare the audience chamber," said the Emperor, preparing to go.

"Good," said Nakago. He gave a thin smile. "We will join you there."

The Emperor frowned. "But Miaka –"

"I will transport the miko."

Miaka's eyes snapped to Nakago's, instantly wary. "Transport," she repeated, eyes narrowing. "What d'you mean, _transport_ –"

Impassively he picked her up, lifting her into his arms like a rag-doll. For a moment she froze, perhaps too surprised to do more than hang limply in his grasp. And then she began to push at his chest with the palm that could reach it, not struggling quite, but forceful. "I can walk, thank you!" she said.

Nakago turned cool eyes toward the Emperor of Hong-Nan. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he said. "I hope that you will have your audience chamber prepared quite soon. This is not my preferred mode of travel."

The miko ceased pushing on his chest for a moment to stare at him. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded haughtily, face inches from his.

A smirk played about Nakago's lips. "You are not nearly as light as you were when I carried you this way in Kutou."

She had been unhealthily thin then, on the verge of death, so what he said was undeniably true. Still, the words had their intended effect. The miko turned red to the roots of her hair and demanded to be put down again and muttered furiously about decorum and decency and things Nakago was evidently lacking; the Emperor bowed and started for the audience chamber; and the Empress vanished from view.

And then there was silence.

-v-

The silence was mostly because Miaka had finally run out of breath and the energy to speak, but also partly because the motion of walking, no matter how controlled, was making her feel slightly dizzy, and with that came residual nausea. _Oh-please-don't-let-me-be-sick-on-Nakago_, she thought, and then her mental self did a double-take and muttered, _Hell if I care!_

Then she thought of something else, something that she couldn't believe hadn't crossed her mind earlier (She pinned it on the fact that she was recovering from nearly drowning.) "You're wounded," she said accusingly. "You're not supposed to be carrying me at all."

"My wound has healed."

She snorted. "Yeah," she said. "Except for the part where kudoku is gnawing its way toward your heart."

"That is irrelevant. The physical wound has healed, and our position will not damage my body further. Your concern is unnecessary."

Mulishly, Miaka folded her arms, letting a huff of air escape her mouth. Her mind was contemplating the extent of Nakago's wound and not how her next words would sound, and she managed, as she did with amazing alacrity, to make her next statement exceedingly awkward. "Well," she said, "I still think carrying people around bridal-style isn't usually a prescribed activity for someone recovering from a chest wound."

At his silence, she turned her head up to read his expression. A raised eyebrow and cool amusement met her eyes, causing her to frown. She wondered at the cause of his sardonic look, and then it struck her. Because of course, it was called bridal-style in her world, accepted as a common term-of-phrase; no one would have thought twice about it, but this was the Universe of the Four Gods and _not_ her world.

"I didn't mean we're actually married," she said, glaring at her stomach, which was easier to look at than his eyes. "It's just what we call this form of carrying in my world."

She snuck a glance at him again. "Indeed?" he said, but there was a kind of glint to his eye as he said it that suggested he was deriving far too much amusement from her floundering.

"Oh, never _mind_," she said, and she closed her eyes and rested her chin upon her chest. It was not entirely unpleasant, being held like this, and she thought that she might even have fallen asleep, right there in Nakago's arms, if they weren't almost at Hotohori's antechamber. The side of her head was pressed flush against the white cloth shirt that covered Nakago's breastbone. She could hear the swish-thud, swish-thud of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Had she been well, their closeness would have bothered her, but now she only murmured, in a voice half-joking:

"You _do_ have a heart."

"You are surprised?" he said.

"I'm not surprised," said Miaka. "Everyone has a physical heart, one that pumps blood through your body. We learned that in first year biology, not that you'd – well. The question is, are you heartless? It's a very different thing altogether." She knew she would never talk like this were her mind not hazy and unguarded, and yet she felt no compunction to stop now, and so she rambled, her guard dropping in synchrony with her eyelids, which felt very heavy. She thought of the _shin, _thought of the memories she had seen in that cave with Tomo. Something like sadness filled her then. It was distressing that the warmth of the skin she was touching could hide something so cold and empty. "Is feeling emotion so terrible," she murmured, "that you would seal it all away and never use it? How can you live without feeling?"

He did not answer; or if he did, she supposed she must have dozed off before she could hear his reply. When her eyes did open finally he was setting her down, and they were in the Emperor's sitting hall, and all Miaka could think about was how she desperately hoped she was not going to be sick all over Hotohori.

Concern was inscribed across Hotohori's features – concern and a blatant kind of wonderment, as if her presence in his hall still astonished him. Miaka had always loved Hotohori for his deep kindness, even if the love on her part was mostly platonic. And yet – she could not help but feel almost panicked. She could feel it starting, the hard lump in her throat; it had been so long since someone had stared at her with dark brown eyes and asked her, softly, gently, "Are you all right, Miaka?"

Sometimes kindness, she thought, was more painful than a hundred verbal spurs. Miaka swallowed against the tears that were building, fighting to keep them from rising to her eyes. There was absolutely no reason to cry. She _could_ not cry! She had to warn Hotohori about the demons, and it would not do for her to start bawling in the middle of the council chamber for ridiculous reasons she didn't understand! Hadn't she proved herself stronger than this?

But try as she might she was crying. She could feel wetness starting to prickle from beneath her closed lashes, and she swiped at her eyes with her fingers.

"Miaka?" said Hotohori, a frown touching his features. This was not how she had wanted their meeting to go at all. She suddenly wished, desperately and absurdly, that Hotohori would be cruel to her. Nakago's scorn would have been easier to face right now than Hotohori's gentle worry. _How strange,_ she thought, _that I can handle ridicule from Nakago, and blunt questioning from Nuriko, but I can't handle kindness_. "I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. She found herself glancing, almost involuntarily, in Nakago's direction – but he was not even facing them; he was staring out the tall, thin windows into the courtyard.

It was Nuriko, and not Nakago, who saved her. The Empress burst into the room, carrying a tray in her arms, atop which lay a cup of something warm and steaming. "Tea," she said firmly, placing it before Miaka. "It's mixed with medicine. Drink all of it."

Miaka nodded, still unable to speak. Nuriko saved her the trouble by crushing her in a hug that made her gasp.

"You are _such_ a bloody idiot!" she said. Behind her words, Miaka sensed that her near-death had deeply frightened Nuriko. "What on earth were you thinking, walking into the castle pond?"

Face buried in Nuriko's shoulder, Miaka let out a sound that could have been muffled protest or an incomprehensible plea for air. "Oh, sorry," said Nuriko, releasing her guiltily.

"S'all right," said Miaka, gasping. "Your old hugs used to be a lot worse."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Miaka shook her head, clutching the tea between her hands. "I'm glad you're okay," she said, smiling slightly. "I thought there might have been something weird in the food we ate for lunch, because I felt strange afterward –"

"You believe you were poisoned?" said Hotohori quickly.

"But that's not important now," said Miaka. "Because there are demons headed to Eiyou, and I've been charged with stopping them, and for that I need -"

"Miaka," said Hotohori gently, and she saw him touch the hilt of the sword at his side, "I already know."

"What?"

She felt as though the world was tilting unsteadily on its axis. It was not until Nuriko grabbed her and sat her down in a chair that she realized that she had been swaying on her feet. She stared disbelievingly into Hotohori's dark eyes. "What do you mean, you already know?"

"This afternoon I met with a rather unexpected party of… ambassadors from Sairou. Two seishi accompanied them – friends who, I believe, you may know…"

"Tokaki and Subaru?" she said incredulously.

"Indeed," said Hotohori. "They claimed they received a… message, in a dream, telling them that they were needed here."

"When he says he met with ambassadors from Sairou, Miaka, he actually means that the Emperor of Sairou has traveled to the palace in person and is currently camping out in the guest bedrooms," Nuriko cut in.

Hotohori raised an eyebrow. "That was supposed to remain a secret." Despite his disapproving tone, Miaka thought he looked amused.

Nuriko crossed her arms. "I never actually promised to keep it secret; you did; and _you_ broke your oath when you told me!"

"And I suppose you care nothing for my reputation as Emperor?"

"Oh, _reputation_, is it? Forgive me if I'm not entirely sympathetic," Nuriko huffed, "but I can't help but remember how _my _reputation was in tatters before our marriage, thanks to a certain someone –"

Miaka pressed a finger to her forehead. Her head, slightly calmer after Nuriko's medicine, was still spinning disconcertingly. She didn't understand. Emperors, Byakko seishi, ambassadors, messages, secrets… it all seemed frighteningly complicated and confusing. There was one thing she really wished to know, which they hadn't answered, so she asked it, hoping desperately that the answer was yes:

"Did the Emperor of Sairou bring a mirror? The mirror of the Emperor of Sairou?"

"He did," said Hotohori.

Miaka felt her heart leap. She glanced toward Nakago – and was annoyed to find that he was still not even looking at them. He was still watching the courtyard with the same bland, almost calculating expression.

Miaka bit her lip. How could he possibly be staring out the window at a time like this? He should be rejoicing, wild with relief. _She_ certainly was. Three of the objects practically in their grasp! Three out of four. Their task was actually starting to look doable. True, they would have two weeks to find the last object, but how hard could it be to get to Hokkan from here? Why, they had managed to do it in a week in the Shijintenchisho – and that wasin spite of a shipwreck, and those creepy women trying to eat all her seishi –

"The Emperor of Sairou might not be willing to give up the mirror as readily as we hope," said Hotohori, cutting off her train of thought abruptly.

Miaka frowned. "I thought he got a message in a dream that said he had to –"

"No. That was Tokaki and Subaru." Hotohori frowned. "The Emperor of Sairou claims to have received a very persuasive message from the ruling palace of Hong-Nan – which we never sent, by the way – requesting his presence in Hong-Nan to discuss the threat of a demon invasion."

Miaka's head was spinning. It was all so complicated. She clutched her mug of tea and tried to understand. "But Tokaki and Subaru," she said. "Taiitsukun or the gods or _someone _sent a message to them, saying that they had to accompany the Emperor and to guard the mirror?"

Hotohori hesitated. "That is not the only reason they're here, Miaka. They claim that one of them needs to be at the summoning ceremony if you are to finish your task. The most valued treasures of the four kings, and one seishi for each god."

"Taiitsukun never told me I needed four seishi," said Miaka, and she whirled, rounding on Nakago. "Did you know about this?" she asked sharply.

"Not explicitly."

Miaka frowned, wondering if he was lying. The whole thing made sense, really; there was a symmetry about it that seemed correct for something holy. Four seishi and four treasures and four gods. If this world really had its parallels with the Shijintenchisho, then Miaka supposed the four treasures must represent Shinzahos, and you couldn't have a summoning ceremony without any seishi present. She supposed she should be glad that _all_ the seishi weren't needed. What a nightmare _that_ would be!

She wanted to ask more, to figure out who the designated seishis of Suzaku and Seiryuu and (good heavens!) Genbu might happen to be. But instead of posing the question, she felt herself yawning. She rested her head in her hand, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sleep.

"Perhaps," said Hotohori gently, "it would be wise for you to recover in a more suitable environment than an antechamber."

Miaka nodded, smothering a yawn. Her eyelids felt heavy, as though coated with gold dust. "I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I just can't think about this right now – maybe tomorrow –"

Nuriko took her arm, guiding her gently out of her chair. They were almost at the door when Miaka realized Nakago wasn't with them. "Wait a second," she said, turning around. "Isn't Nakago –"

Hotohori shot her a reassuring look. "It's all right, Miaka. I must speak to Nakago alone, briefly. As a matter of fact, we have an appointment."

"Huh?"

A slip of parchment that looked suspiciously like a schedule lay on Hotohori's desk. Miaka picked it up and stared at it. "Wait a moment," she said, disbelievingly, suddenly awake again. "The reason you couldn't see me until four was because you were scheduled to meet with Nakago beforehand?"

Nakago finally turned away from the window for a moment and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Apparently the Emperor felt that whatever I had to say took priority."

"More likely he just wanted to get your visit out of the way first, because he found it distasteful," Nuriko said, with an airy toss of her hair. She glanced at Hotohori. Something meaningful seemed to pass between them, a kind of silent communication. After a second, Hotohori gave a slight nod and the briefest of smiles, and Nuriko seemed, inexplicably, to relax. "Come, Miaka," she said breezily. "Let's get you to bed."

Miaka stared at Nuriko. Just yesterday her friend had been threatening to dismember Nakago if he got close to Hotohori, and now she was prepared to leave him alone in a room with her husband. But Nuriko seemed perfectly at ease. Miaka wondered, briefly, what had passed between her and Hotohori just now. "I don't know," Miaka said, glancing from Hotohori to Nakago and back again.

"I am not going to murder the Emperor of Hong-Nan before fifty guards, miko," Nakago said, sounding bored.

He would chi-blast the fifty guards and _then_ off the Emperor; that's how he would do it.

No – that was unjust – Nakago had not given her any reason to doubt his intentions since he had stopped working for Tenkou. He had said himself, when Soi was still with them, that he was not going to take back Kutou until he regained full use of his powers; surely that also meant that he and Hotohori were on the same side until Tenkou's defeat Miaka paused, and then settled for saying, "_Try_ not to kill each other while I'm gone." She was only half-joking.

-v-

Nakago continued to stare into the courtyard until well after the Suzaku no Miko was gone, watching the unloading of carriages, pack mules, and horses that was currently in progress. Lord Saihitei had some extremely interesting new arrivals awaiting his attention, he thought with some satisfaction. Nakago doubted Lord Saihitei was aware that the Emperor of Hokkan had also arrived to join the party.

He turned back to the Emperor at long last. If he had hoped that Lord Saihitei would find his disrespect unnerving, he was disappointed. The Emperor sat at his desk, regarding Nakago with an expression more pensive than irritated.

"Do you still know who I am?" Nakago asked him curiously.

Lord Saihitei tilted his head. "I would find it difficult to forget the man who murdered me," he said pleasantly. "The miko's presence is not the only thing that reminds me of my past life. The presence of other seishi – non-Suzaku seishi, that is – seems to be enough to re-awaken the latent memories. Your presence suffices."

Nakago nodded. "You wished to meet with me," he said. "I, however, have nothing more to discuss with you at the moment, save to request an invitation to whatever council you hold with your visiting dignitaries tomorrow."

"I see," said Lord Saihitei. He still looked thoughtful. "That is a weighty request indeed, but it might be arranged. After all, you yourself could be considered the ruler of Kutou, now that the Emperor of Kutou is dead – is that not so?"

Not for the first time, Nakago could not help but wonder how their lives would have been different had this man been Kutou's Emperor. Just as quickly as that thought flitted into his head, it was chased away again. This man, this sentimental fool, would never have survived the poisonous atmosphere that was Kutou's Imperial Palace. Smarter and better men than Lord Saihitei had been maimed and broken by it.

He recalled the way Lord Saihitei had ridden out onto the battlefield on the day of his death, to die at the head of his people, in a fight he could not possibly win. A blind display of courage, one that had – in the end – gotten him killed and made his then-wife a widow. That was the other time Nakago had wondered what Kutou and Hong-Nan would have been like, had their emperors been reversed. And he had almost resented Lord Saihitei for it.

He regarded the Emperor impassively. "It is true that the Emperor of Kutou is dead," he said, shrugging. "I could even be considered the ruler of Kutou, since he did not leave any heirs. Though I expect that in my absence the country has tumbled back into civil war."

"I see."

_Do you really? _Nakago could not help but smile drily. "I expect," he said calmly, "that in calling this meeting, you had more of a reason than a simple interest in Kutou's affairs."

"I wished mainly to gauge your intentions without Miaka present."

"Do you know of the danger you have put yourself in by agreeing to meet with me alone?" Nakago's lips curved into an ironic smile. "I am, after all, your murderer."

"You are also responsible for saving Miaka's life this afternoon," said Hotohori calmly. "My soldiers informed me that she would certainly have drowned if not for you." He paused, then went on. "She has been through a trying time and is particularly vulnerable at this moment; she did not need this additional strain. But you have gained her trust, and that is to be commended." He added, "All of us love her dearly. Anyone who makes her suffer, betrays her trust, hurts her spirit in any way – will suffer as deeply as she will."

It was a warning, as unmistakable as the miko's absurdly brilliant chi signature. Nakago raised an amused eyebrow. "Provided you remember her existence."

He was gratified to see a glimmer of unease flash through the Emperor's eyes for a moment. "I assure you," said Hotohori, "that if someone harms Miaka, her seishi _will_ discover it."

"Perhaps the Suzaku no Miko has more strength than her seishi believe, said Nakago, eyes glinting.

The Emperor's unease seemed to fade a little. "Miaka is strong," he said calmly. "But we all have our breaking point."

"And yours, Lord Saihitei?" Nakago recalled the Emperor's expression by the pond, his look of amazement and delight at Miaka's appearance. His lip curled slightly. "The miko?"

To Nakago's surprise, the Emperor only smiled. "Do you know what it is to have a family?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question, of course; all the same, the query irked Nakago. Hotohori's lips twitched a little, as though he "I know what you are thinking," he said. "And it is wildly incorrect. I love Nuriko and Boushin deeply. Miaka's presence does not change that."

"Do you reveal your greatest weakness to all your enemies?" Nakago asked coolly. "Or just to me?"

Lord Saihitei's eyes seemed to harden a little, but he still retained his pleasant expression. "Anyone in the palace would be capable of telling you that I care about my wife and child," he said, shrugging. "It is no secret."

"You are a fool."

"To love others? I do not think that is a fool's trait, but a source of strength. You may of course disagree. Or were you referring to my agreeing to give you leave to remain within the palace, under my hospitality? I think you'll find that I'm not quite a fool there, either," said the Emperor evenly. "I do not trust you fully, for all Miaka seems to. Tokaki and Subaru have been on the other side of this door since our conversation started. They have retained full possession of their powers and their memories of their past lives. They will be in the room next to you until we find a better solution."

Nakago heard the unyielding undertones in the Emperor's voice, saw the steely glint in the Emperor's eyes spark to life for just a second before fading back into pleasantness.

Yes, the miko and the Emperor of Hong-Nan were very similar indeed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a messenger slip in through the door, bow, and hand the Emperor a scroll. Nakago smiled. _I do believe that is my cue to leave._

"It has been a… pleasant conversation," Nakago said, lingering a moment over the adjective. "Indeed, one could almost call it edifying. But I believe you have other important – one might say _imperial_ – guests you must attend to. Good day."

And, smiling at the Emperor's look of surprise, he swept from the room.

-v-

Despite her insistence that she was fine and could walk perfectly well on her own feet, Nuriko had insisted that Miaka be accompanied by two guardsmen; she had stopped just shy of ordering a litter. But the guards were bad enough. They walked awkwardly on either side of Miaka, ostensibly to support her in case she fell, although they bumped into her so often, Miaka was surprised she _didn't_ fall.

She was actually feeling much better, and the exercise seemed to be rousing her from her previous drowsy state. Perhaps she had merely caught a particularly violent and ephemeral stomach virus. Nuriko, attentive and almost overly concerned, also accompanied her all the way back to her rooms, fluffing her pillows and hovering in a way Miaka found almost maddening. Finally, Miaka ordered her off, saying that she wished to rest, though this was only half-true. She really was much better.

She sighed and made her way to the window, thinking that she might at least see what Nakago had found so very interesting about the courtyard. Halfway there, she stumbled and almost fell. She glared at the thing that had caused her to trip, nursing her bruised knee. It was the strap that belonged to Nakago's travel pack, which someone – perhaps a soldier – had carelessly shoved beneath the bed that morning, after Nuriko had pulled her out of prison.

She disentangled her foot from the strap and pulled out the pack, eying it with a frown. Now that Nakago was free from prison, he must have his own quarters, which meant he would need his things. She certainly did not want them. But the guards who had escorted her here were gone, and Nuriko was gone too, and she doubted the hall guards would have any idea where Nakago was staying. She supposed he could come and retrieve his belongings from her when he finished talking with Hotohori.

She was returning the pack to her bed when Miaka noticed that something had fallen out of the bag: something small and hard and curved. She stared at Tomo's _shin_ for a good half-minute before she reached down and picked it up.

It was smooth to the touch, cool, and so light she could barely tell she was holding it. Before she even knew what she was doing, she had placed a nail in the crack that divided both halves of the shell, as though to open it.

Then she paused, a sense of wrongness overtaking her. Opening the _shin_ would be like reaching into Nakago's private diary and reading every word. How could she possibly do such a thing, commit such a violation of privacy? Miaka's hands trembled, and she almost returned the shell to its home in Nakago's pack.

But it was not as if this was something she hadn't already seen, in the cave with Tomo and Nakago. She only wished to understand what she had barely glimpsed and hardly comprehended. She wanted to use it to _help_ Nakago, not to make his life worse. Surely, she thought, surely that cannot be evil?

Good, bad, pure, evil, the lines were blurring like the world viewed through tears. Miaka did not know what was right anymore, she did not know what would happen if she opened up the window into the past of Ayuru. She just wanted to know – wanted to make sense of the person who had stared at her with relief that afternoon as she retched and whimpered on the flagstones, the man who had done cruel things but had told her last night that her sadness was not a crime.

That was all.

She stuck her nail into the crack between the two halves of the shell and flicked upward, watching as the two smooth, pale halves of the shell fell away. She held the _shin _up, close to her face, close enough that she could see the figures in miniature acting out the drama of Ayuru's life, that she could hear the voices of the people who had shaped Ayuru.

The memories swallowed her.

* * *

*Try saying "Chiriko and Nuriko" ten times fast.

* * *

**Author's note: **

Naughty, naughty, Miaka! Tsk, tsk. Looking into other peoples' Moste Private Memories.

Yeah, I had to take a temporary break from the crazy updating schedule. My Dad decided that we were going out to see a movie last night, and I hadn't seen him in awhile, so that's what I was doing. But I'm making up for it with an absurdly long chapter this evening. And yes, this is absurdly long by my standards. Do you know how many hours this took to edit into decency? T_T

Only one month until the promised finish date. And I have what, ~23 chapters that I still need to post? ACK. That's basically one chapter every day with maybe 5 breather days. And it doesn't help that February is such a short month! I still need to finish the damn story, too – I've only written up to Chapter 54. Bah!

And of course, thanks to _Desert Renaissance, tohru78, Nile1283, and Helena_ for your reviews! I'm glad everyone was happy with the Nuriko characterization! I also liked the suggestions for Nakago-Miaka kids. In terms of how the actual biology would work, well, hair and eyes are actually kind of tricky, since they're polygenetic. (I know a family where the dad has dark hair and the mom has blonde hair and the three kids have blonde, brown, and dark brown hair for instance). But I will say that if Miaka has light-haired people in her family, it increases the odds of having lighter-haired children (that's just how the genetics work out). Does anyone know if her mother and Keisuke dye their hair, or are they actually light-haired?

**Questions (from you):**

**Did Miaka get poisoned or simply eat too much? Will Nakago rescue the damsel?**

Heh… Well, Nakago certainly rescued her. As for the other question, if you haven't figured it out from this chapter (and there is really not much misdirection here) you will find out in the next chapter. I think one person guessed it already…

**Questions (for you): **

Lame ending? Sloppy editing? (Well I know there's tons of that – I was quite rushed – but what part was worst?) Also I'm interested to see what parts of this chapter you liked and didn't like – and whether they are the same as the parts that I liked and didn't like.

* * *

Disclaimer: I'm not Yuu Watase. This isn't mine. None of it. Except for the lame plot and sloppy editing.


	38. Your train of thought will be altered

...

**XXXVIII**

**Your train of thought will be altered**

...

Miaka awoke the next morning to the realization that Nakago's bag had vanished sometime in the night. It took her a minute to figure out that Nakago must have entered her room while she slept and removed his belongings, and five more minutes to get over her indignation. She thought, very briefly, about asking Hotohori for a lock to her room, but then she dismissed the idea. What was the use, really, when Nakago had the powers to chi blast the door if he were really determined? So what if he had taken his bag back? So what if he had seen her asleep? – it wasn't as though he hadn't stood guard while she slept for the duration of their journey. The sensible part of herself told her she was overreacting, even as the more impulsive part of Miaka suddenly, desperately felt the urge to go down to market and buy herself a personal guard dog.

Then she remembered the _shin_, and that was enough to make all thoughts of guard dogs fly out the window. She made a dive for the spot between her mattress and the floorboards where she had hid the _shin _last night – and nearly gasped with relief when she saw it was still there, undiscovered by Nakago. But perhaps, she thought guiltily, it would have been better if Nakago had removed it.

The _shin_, Miaka had found, was selective. It showed disaster, the darkest moments of Ayuru's life. Because this darkness was what had intrigued Tomo.

It worried Miaka that it intrigued her, too.

Granted, there were parts of his life that she had not dared to watch last night, evils so pernicious and penetrating that she had averted her eyes. There was the rape of Ayuru's mother, the violence inflicted upon the Hin tribe, and the Emperor – especially the Emperor of Kutou -

She could not help but think of all the hateful remarks she had made to Nakago about his murdering the Emperor, shortly after the fact. It made her sick, how she had almost defended the man. After what Miaka had seen, she would have been happy to watch the Emperor's skin peeled off one strip at a time as he screamed and burned in oil.

The crimes had had committed were so horrifying, so terrible to behold, that Miaka had not been able to finish watching the story of Ayuru's life last night. Somewhere in the middle of Ayuru's teenage years, Miaka had set the _shin_ aside. She told herself she was done – that she had seen enough – that it wasn't any of her business anyway what Ayuru's past was like. She knew she should throw it away, or slip it back in Nakago's bag.

Instead, Miaka had hidden it beneath her mattress.

She eyed it now, one part apprehension and two parts guilt. For a moment, she almost considered opening it again and then shook herself. Perhaps this afternoon she would feel capable of seeing more of Ayuru's tragic past, but not now. And so she tucked it back under the mattress again.

She headed to breakfast, still pondering questions of morality and privacy. She was staring at the ground, paying not the least attention to her surroundings, and so it happened that she collided with a man who was rounding the corner in the opposite direction.

She let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, but her yell had been one of astonishment, rather than pain. "Amiboshi?" she said incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

He offered a hand to help her up. He was just as she remembered him. His eyes – strikingly blue against the darker color of his hair – shone with happiness as he grinned at her. His flute hung from a case at his side, fastened tightly to his belt by a series of intricate knots. A woven band of purple linen held his hair back from his forehead, although his hair still had the tendency to flutter into his eyes at odd moments. "I was just coming to find you!" he said. "They told me you'd be in this wing."

"I thought you were in Hokkan!" she said, returning his smile with one of her own. "Suboshi said he was going to find you – does that mean he's here, too?"

"Yes, he's here as well. It's quite a story. I'm actually here with the Emperor of Hokkan. I was living by the river – you know where, Miaka, just inside the Hokkan border – and then Suboshi arrived and rewoke my memories, and he knew about how you were trying to summon the gods, and – well, it's complicated, but we learned that the Emperor of Hokkan was coming here, on diplomatic business, and we ended up accompanying him."

"That's just like Tokaki and Subaru," Miaka said slowly. "Hotohori said they arrived yesterday too, with the Emperor of Sairou." She shook her head. "This is _weird._"

Miaka stared at Amiboshi for a long moment, and he stared right back, until she squirmed slightly under his scrutiny, and then her stomach growled, and he laughed. "Why don't you come to breakfast and we'll talk more?"

When it came to meals, Miaka never needed to be asked twice. They made for the Great Hall briskly, Miaka in high spirits. The Emperors of Sairou _and _Hokkan were here! Why, they might even be able to summon the gods today – if all the necessary seishi were here.

But when Miaka arrived on the threshold of the Great Hall, all thoughts of summoning the gods flew temporarily out the window. She paused on the threshold, struck by the sheer _oddness_ of their present company. "My god," she said. "They're all going to kill each other!"

"No, that will happen this afternoon, when the Emperors are scheduled to meet and talk politics," Amiboshi said seriously. "We're very safe right now."

Miaka did not _feel_ safe. Tokaki was sitting next to Nuriko, and that was all right, but Suboshi was to the left of Chiriko, which made Miaka's stomach flip. Subaru sat next to a plump, balding man who might have been the Emperor of Sairou or Hokkan, Miaka couldn't tell which. To this man's right was a woman who was probably his wife, and to _her_ right was Tokaki, who seemed to be chatting her up – oh dear. To make matters worse, Nakago had taken a seat next to Hotohori, which clearly did not please Nuriko at all, and Houki was making polite conversation with Nakago across the table, which was making _her_ husband not pleased, and everyone seemed, in general, to be in a state of keen displeasure, except for Nakago, who looked amused, and Chiriko, who seemed to be enjoying himself discussing the theory of windmill design with Suboshi, who looked extremely bored.

There were only two empty seats in the hall, and they lay between Subaru and Nakago. With some hesitation, Miaka sat herself down in the empty chair next to Nakago, leaving the other seat for Amiboshi. It was not her top choice by any means, but at least it seemed in a good position from which to stop the situation from spiraling hopelessly out of control.

Of course, Miaka was so busy stuffing her face for the next ten minutes that fireworks could have exploded above her head without her noticing. But she knew Amiboshi would do something if everything got too unmanageable; he was a decent sort of person and, fortunately, he had a bit more self-control around food than she.

He was also – she realized suddenly – trying to speak to her. She shot a sad look at the delicacies on her plate – _I will be back for you soon, my precious!_ – and forced herself to listen. But only silence greeted her. Amiboshi was watching her expectantly.

"Yes," she guessed, the hopeful guess of one who has no idea what her conversation partner has actually said, but knows that he is waiting for her answer.

She had guessed wrong. Amiboshi's lips twitched, not unkindly. "I said," said Amiboshi, "how many days have you been at the palace?"

"Oh!" she said, blushing. "Only two. Not counting the one in prison, but that's really not worth counting."

"Nuriko mentioned a journey."

He said the words tentatively, and the tone of his voice caused Miaka to wonder what else had been mentioned, how long he had talked to her seishi last night.

"Not that interesting," she said, with a carefree, light laugh that might have fooled the new arrivals but didn't fool Amiboshi. "Just some demons, and lots and lots of trekking through the forest." She helped herself to another dish of egg, still smiling. "And the food!" she said. "The food was horrible."

Amiboshi laughed. "I'd forgotten how much you loved food," he said.

"Impressive. The memory draught that you imbibed in the Shijintenchisho must have been quite powerful."

The voice was pleasantly malicious and thoroughly unwelcome. Miaka whipped round to find Nakago watching both of them with a cool, amused smile. After the things Miaka had witnessed in the _shin _last night, to see him in such a normal capacity at the breakfast table was almost jarring. Miaka found that she could not quite meet his eyes – could not even look at him without images of from the _shin_ floating to her mind like half-dead corpses. She swallowed.

If Nakago noticed her discomfort, he showed no sign of it. "It seems," he said, sending a meaningful glance toward Miaka's plate, "that even her near-death experience yesterday has had no effect on the Suzaku no Miko's appetite."

Well, _really! _Miaka felt her guilt fading rapidly. Chopsticks halfway along the well-traversed path from the dish to her mouth, she paused to glare at Nakago. "It seems Nakago's stay in prison didn't make him any less of a self-centered bastard, either," she said. "Fancy that." And she shot him a smile that was as sunny and as insincere as she could make it.

She blinked, slightly alarmed, as the half of the table that was closest to her went silent and stared at her. "Oops," she said brightly, "did I say that aloud? Silly me. Chiriko, pass the salt. Why don't you talk to _me_ about windmills? Suboshi looks bored." _And murderous. Did I say _that_ aloud? No? Oh, good. _

She smiled and nodded vacantly as Chiriko chattered with enthusiasm about some technological idea that probably would only become important in the twentieth century. Every so often she said, "Mmhmm," or "Oh, _wow_!" or "You're so smart, Chiriko!" Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Hokkan Emperor's wife slap Tokaki and hurry off; watched Subaru slap Tokaki and cross her arms; and saw Nuriko engage Suboshi in a conversation about athletics. She felt herself relax a little.

"I think," she said, when Chiriko's enthusiasm had finally wound down, "I'd better rest again."

Actually, she wanted to talk to Amiboshi, but she turned to find him already heading toward the double doors. She was about to go after him when a hand caught her arm. Miaka looked up and saw that Nakago was watching her sardonically.

"You will return here at three this afternoon."

She frowned, pulling away from his grasp. "And why's that?" she said.

"Because," he said, "that is when the Emperors and seishi are scheduled to meet in the Great Hall to discuss the business of the demons. I doubt you would want to miss it." He smiled. She didn't quite like the way his eyes glittered. "It should be a _most_ entertaining time."

-v-

She found Amiboshi sitting on high wall overlooking the river, flute in hands, staring out across the water. She slowed when she approached him, but he beckoned her over.

"I forgot how much I liked this place," he said. The breeze was catching his hair, tousling it gently. "I never thought I'd be back here, you know. I'm surprised the people of Hong-Nan _let_ me return."

"Don't be a fool," she said, sitting down next to him. "What you did wasn't unforgivable."

"You think so?" he said. "Would Nuriko have died, if I hadn't pretended to be Chiriko? What about the real Chiriko, - what of Mitsukake, Hotohori? They would have lived."

Miaka waved her hand dismissively. "Nakago would've found some other way to cause trouble," she said. "Seiryuu would have been summoned, and then all hell would've broken loose. People would have died anyway. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either," said Amiboshi quietly.

"What's not my fault?" She glanced at him, nonplussed.

"Tamahome."

A moment's pause, the length of a heartbeat. Miaka felt her hands clench at her sides. "I'll kill Nuriko," she said.

"Don't." He reached up and caught her arm as Miaka tried to rise. "She's looking after you. They're all trying to, in their own way."

Miaka frowned and allowed herself to be pulled back down onto the ledge. She rested her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands. "Why," she muttered darkly, "do I have a feeling that Nuriko would like nothing better than to set us up on a blind date?"

He eyed her curiously.

"A thing in my world," she said. "Er. Never mind."

She sighed and twisted her hands in the hem of her dress. A thought struck her, and she turned to the boy with sandy hair who sat next to her, still staring peacefully over the water. "Amiboshi –"

"Yes?"

She waved a hand at his flute. "Your powers – are they – Can you play that?"

He smiled and gently raised the instrument to his lips.

-v-

It was almost one by the time Miaka made her way back to her rooms. She slid through the halls quietly, trying to attract as little attention as possible. She did not need to worry; the halls were near-deserted. Most likely everyone was at lunch. Briefly, Miaka considered joining them, but she was not sure she could sit through another nerve-wracking episode of extremely tense politeness. So she hailed one of the guards standing watch near the garden and asked him apologetically if she might have lunch sent to her quarters instead.

As she was making her way back to her rooms, she saw a slim figure that might have been Nuriko in a nearby corridor. For a moment, Miaka considered drawing her attention – and then she thought better of it. No doubt, if Miaka tried to question her about Amiboshi, Nuriko would just laugh it away and then turn the tables on her by asking her loaded questions about Tamahome's death again. And Miaka really didn't want to be drawn into such a conversation.

Once in her room, Miaka closed the door. To make certain she wouldn't be disturbed, she propped a chair against the doorknob and closed the curtains. Then, feeling a little like she was turning the key to Pandora's box, she drew the _shin_ out from beneath her mattress and eased it open.

Perhaps the _shin _was more clever than she knew, or perhaps Tomo had simply designed it to act like a pre-technological videoplayer, for it began in exactly the spot she had left off last night. And so, Miaka immersed herself once again in the story of Ayuru and Taria.

Miaka liked Taria, as much as it is possible to like someone you've only seen in a memory. Miaka _understood_ Taria. Taria had a heart of fire and was perhaps the one good thing about Ayuru's life in the Kutou palace. Anyone else might have sunken into despair, or succumbed to the misery of the loss of almost everyone she knew. But when the two children had been brought before the Emperor, Taria had spat passionately in the Emperor's face, had shouted, "Get away from us!" and had been slapped and later beaten into submission.

Ayuru was more cautious, watchful and reserved. He took fewer risks than Taria and was wiser about picking his battles. Already he was beginning to show the same aloof mask Miaka was used to seeing on Nakago's face – but from time to time, she caught a glimmer of something like feelings upon his features. Like hate, when the Emperor was not looking, or worry, when he looked at Taria.

They were ostracized, ridiculed by the other children their age, forced to eat scraps from the table. Escape from the palace looked impossible. Miaka watched their one escape attempt fall to pieces before their eyes, and she cringed and turned away from the subsequent, brutal retribution that had followed.

The continued imprisonment seemed to weigh the heaviest on Taria, who was more often the subject of punishment. She began to look more thin and haggard each time she saw Ayuru. They were growing older, no longer quite children. Taria wept passionately when she flowered into a woman

And then came a scene that Miaka had not been expecting, though probably she should have expected it. Taria and Ayuru embracing – Ayuru brushing her mouth with the lightest of kisses –

Someone was knocking on her door. Miaka jumped at the sound, heart pounding, and slammed the _shin_ closed. For one wild moment, she was certain the person at her door was Nakago, come to punish her for spying on his memories unpermitted.

Then Miaka remembered that she had ordered lunch delivered to her room. Feeling slightly silly, she slid off the bed. In her haste to bring herself closer to the aromatic smells on the other side of the door, she tossed the _shin _back down on the coverlet, not realizing that the momentum of the throw had caused the two halves to flip open again.

The guard was in the doorway, holding a bowl of soup. "Thanks," said Miaka, taking the proffered bowl with a smile. She stared absently after the retreating man for a moment before turning to her meal – lunch was some kind of dumpling beef stew, and it looked absolutely delicious…

She would have devoured it then and there, had not the unmistakable sound of an angry voice abruptly intruded on her thoughts. Miaka froze, mid-step, bowl in hand, listening. Around the corner, she heard voices – soft, yet undeniably charged, and very, very familiar. Miaka recognized Nuriko's heated tones, followed by a voice which was quiet and controlled and mocking, a voice Miaka had heard so much in the last month that she recognized it instantly –

She set her soup down and edged closer; from the sound of things, Nuriko and Nakago were just around the corner. Gradually she began to make out what the speakers were saying, although at first the words made as much sense to her as the complex algebraic equations she had been expected to solve in school. Was Nakago _accusing _Nuriko? But of what?

And then, she heard words that stopped her in her tracks. Nuriko's words, almost a shout-

"I never intended for Miaka to _die_!"

Miaka heard Nakago murmur something in a low, threatening voice – heard a shriek of rage and a resounding smack – and then Miaka was running, racing round the corner as fast as her legs would carry her –

She stared aghast at the scene that met her eyes. Nuriko lay on the floor of the hallway, fully winded and gasping for air. It looked as though she had just had the breath knocked out of her by. Her long dress, a gauzy thing of airy green silk, was tangled around her legs, and the pin in her hair was wildly askew. "Curse you," she wheezed at Nakago, clutching an ornamental plant to pull herself off the ground. "You really annoy me."

"Likewise," Nakago said, eyes glinting.

"Well, what d'you know," said Nuriko. "I guess we have that much in common –"

At the end of the word, her fist darted forward, aimed for Nakago's jawline. Nakago's retaliation was too quick to see, but Miaka heard something snap. Miaka screamed, a high, keening shriek that echoed up and down the hall.

_"Stop it!"_

"Miaka," Nuriko gasped, whirling to face her, "wait –"

But Miaka was already springing forward, red light blossoming around her fingers, morphing into a barrier which engulfed Nakago, trapping him in a sphere of hazy red.

"Miaka," Nuriko wheezed, cradling the fingers of her left hand, which were bent at an odd angle, "it's okay. I definitely deserved that."

Miaka swallowed. The entire hall was bathed in the brilliant red glow of Miaka's barrier. The shifting light patterns reminded Miaka a bit of a funhouse, or of sunset on a battlefield. "What do you mean?" she said.

She was speaking to Nuriko, but her eyes watched Nakago. If her barrier perturbed him, he did not show it. Far from it; he was regarding it with detached interest, as though he found it an annoyance, or simply amusing.

Slowly, _kokoro_ shimmered to life on his forehead, and Miaka tensed. Nakago caught her eyes for a moment – a look that said everything and nothing at all – and then he struck the scarlet barrier coolly with a glowing blue palm.

The red shield fractured and shattered before Miaka's eyes.

-v-

"Miaka," said Nuriko, as though Nakago had not just done the unthinkable. "I have to tell you something."

Dazed, Miaka could only continue to stare at Nakago. The realization of what he had just managed to do momentarily engulfed her, rendering her mute. A part of her told her how stupid she must look: hands frozen, staring blankly, barely blinking as her eyes met his – and yet, faced with the implications of his actions, Miaka almost found it difficult to breathe.

At last, she tore her gaze away and turned toward Nuriko, who was clutching her sleeve and staring toward her like she had something desperately important to say. Miaka put a hand on Nuriko's arm, intending to deal with the injury – Nuriko's fingers were at such odd angles, they surely must be broken – but Nuriko pulled back as though Miaka had slapped her.

"Nuriko – your hand." Miaka stared at her, confused. "I just want to heal you."

"No!" Nuriko bent her head and bit her lip, taking a step backward as Miaka reached forward again. "I don't deserve to be healed."

It was these words that fully roused Miaka from her stupor. She glanced once more at Nakago's frustratingly impassive expression, and then turned concerned eyes on her seishi. "Nuriko," she said. "What on earth's going on?"

"I've done something terrible," said Nuriko, head still lowered. "A terrible, terrible thing."

"Well," said Miaka brightly, "so long as you haven't killed anybody or something like that –"

Miaka broke off as Nuriko flinched, harshly and visibly. She replayed the words she had overheard in the corridor before intervening. There had been something about dying. Something about her.

"I think you will find," said Nakago coolly, "that you don't have to look far for the cause of yesterday's mishap."

Miaka's mouth opened, but no words came out. Slowly, miserably, Nuriko met her eyes.

-v-

She would not have poisoned Miaka in the first place, had it not been for their conversation the previous morning. _I suppose that an emperor can have two wives more easily than normal people_ – Nuriko knew Miaka had been jesting when she spoke these words, but they still had been enough to bring a curl of fear to her gut. And then Miaka had gotten the letter from Hotohori – and Hotohori had signed the letter "Yours." _Yours!_ Hotohori belonged to Nuriko, not Miaka. He had no right to be signing his letters to Miaka "Yours" when he was actually _hers_. And Hotohori had not even _seen_ Miaka yet. What would happen when they met that afternoon?

In Hotohori's signature, Nuriko had seen the beginning of the end, her entire world shattering to pieces before her eyes. The poison had been a split-second's decision, an idea born of desperation, more capricious than preplanned. She had not intended Miaka to eat all the cakes that day, just two or three, just enough to make Miaka ill enough to postpone Miaka's meeting with Hotohori until Nuriko could figure out what to do. After Miaka ate not one, but _twenty _cakes, Nuriko had tried to feed Miaka the antidote, but Miaka had foiled her plans, as Miaka was so good at doing. And then, in a moment of distraction, Miaka had left. With Miaka not only out of sight, but out of the vicinity, Nuriko's memories had faded; she had not gone after Miaka as she ought to have; and she might have forgotten the incident entirely, had not soldiers begun rushing toward the castle pond.

These were the things Nuriko had planned to tell Miaka when she entered the guest wing of the Royal Palace that afternoon. She had spent the breakfast and most of lunch wrestling with what she had done, her mind sick with guilt and terror, until by that afternoon her mind was such a muddy mess that she knew she would have to act. And so, she had come to the hallway of the guest wing an hour before with the intent of admitting her faults to Miaka and muting her guilt with the relief of confession.

And then Fear had risen, fear of retribution. She did not think she could stand being at the receiving end of a disappointed look from Miaka. She had almost destroyed Miaka once before, but that was before she had understood what being a seishi meant; she had felt remorse then, but none close to now. There were things you just did not do as a seishi, and poisoning your miko was one of them.

She had sat in the hallway, a few doors down from Miaka's room. She had stayed there for what felt like hours – though it was probably more like then minutes – unmoving, willing herself to stand up, to take the few tiny steps to Miaka's suite and knock on her door.

But she hadn't moved – not even when Nakago rounded the corner and stepped toward her with cool, measured strides.

"So," he had said, his eyes glinting, "the murderess lacks the courage to confess to her crime?"

"Well, aren't you a clever one." It didn't surprise her that he knew. He was the sort of man who gathered secrets about other people and then revealed them at the most distressing times imaginable. Strangely, she felt not fear but relieved anticipation. You could say things to Nakago, admit things that would shock normal people; they would pale to utter insignificance in relation to his crimes. The thought caused her mood to brighten slightly.

"The draught you offered the Suzaku no miko in the Emperor's office held antidote," Nakago said. "Your motive was fear of your husband's infidelity."

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing.

"Pathetic, Suzaku seishi." She saw his lip curl. "Was your intent to ensure Tenkou's victory? Did you think Eiyou would be spared when demons overran the four kingdoms?"

"I never intended for Miaka to _die_!"

"I would have thought that even if you didn't care for Miaka, you might have a care for your husband and child. Clearly I was mistaken." Nakago's eyes glittered in the dim light that filtered into the hall from the garden. "I wonder," he said pitilessly, "how the Emperor would look possessed by demons, unable to control his own actions, only able to watch, a helpless bystander, as he drew his sword from its sheath, stabbed his guards through the heart, and then turned his weapon on other targets: his councilors – his servants – even his own wife and son…"

It was as though something inside her snapped then; the turmoil that Nuriko had been suppressing for the better part of the morning sprang up to overwhelm her, giving rise to a surge of movement. Her fist sailed toward his face, fueled by all her rage and guilt and despair. She knew Nakago was more powerful – had no delusions about who would win this battle – but it would be such a relief to suffer physical punishment after the mental anguish that had haunted her for hours.

Nakago caught the blow in midair, sending her stumbling backward onto the flagstones. Her body smarted where it hit the flagstones, but Nuriko almost welcomed it. It was so much easier to suffer physical punishment than mental guilt.

And so it had been Miaka had found them. She had tried to stop Nakago, not realizing that Nuriko was the instigator – not willing to believe it even now, after Nakago had revealed the truth. As Nuriko clutched the two broken fingers of her left hand, she pondered how ironic it was that the miko she had just tried to poison was still standing tensely between her and Nakago, as though prepared to defend Nuriko with her life.

"Miaka," said Nuriko. "Nakago's right."

"What?"

Nuriko hung her head. "It was the cakes," she said. "They were only supposed to make you sick –"

Words rushed out, like a torrent, a river. "There was poison in the cakes, because I thought they would make you sick that afternoon, but I _only_ wanted to make you sick – I never dreamed – I never thought you'd eat so many. And then –"

She did not know how long she spoke, but she was well aware of stopping. For as she trailed off into silence, Miaka broke through her misery, taking Nuriko's good hand in her own and clasping it gently, even as she smiled – _smiled!_ – into Nuriko's face.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

-v-

_It doesn't matter. _

A shiver of _déjà vu_ swept over him, and the barest crease of a frown appeared across Nakago's forehead. He had heard those words before, in a cave outside of Eiyou where illusions battled reality and a miko's light shone brilliant and scarlet. Once again he could not help but ponder the miko's easy readiness to forgive. He suspected – from the rumors he had managed to pry from several soldiers as he explored the palace the previous night – that this was not the first time the miko had forgiven Nuriko.

The miko was watching him pensively, but she looked away as his gaze met hers. She seemed almost agitated, and she had ever since he had managed to escape. Long after _kokoro_ had dimmed from his forehead, she continued to glance at him, the searching glance of a person who doesn't know quite what to believe.

Nakago watched silently as the miko tried once more to take Nuriko's injured hand. The Empress waved her off, shaking her head. Already the woman looked lighter, as though a great weight had been removed from her shoulders. Her chi, which had been roiling and erratic, was almost bearable to look at now. "I deserved it," Nakago heard the Empress tell the miko. These words were shortly followed by an exasperated, "Don't you care that I could have killed you?"

"But you didn't," the miko said. "I'm just fine, and we'll talk later, but I forgive you. Let's meet in your room this evening. All right?"

As the Empress nodded and made to depart, the miko turned back toward Nakago. The stare she gave him was hard and scrutinizing, but also perplexed. Her arms were crossed against her chest. Nakago was pleased to see that her eyes, which had looked almost sunken about her near brush with death, were fully alert, curious and wary.

"Soi told me something interesting two weeks ago," she said. Although her voice was even, Nakago sensed a deep uncertainty flickering through her chi. "Do you want to know what Soi said?"

"Enlighten me."

"She said that someone tried to approach me, that night we stayed in the inn – a cruel man who wished hurt me. She said that, although I was unconscious, a red barrier appeared around me and stopped him." She began to pace, rubbing her hands across her arms as though to warm herself. "She also implied that the same thing happened in Hokkan. That the reason you didn't succeed in – in securing Seiryuu's victory in Hokkan was because I created a barrier around myself." The miko looked Nakago straight in the eye. "Only, funnily enough, when I cast a barrier around you tonight, you broke through it as if it was barely an impedance to you."

"An interesting observation," Nakago said neutrally.

His brows flew up as the miko reached forward and grabbed his arm.

"Attack me," she said, voice slightly rough. "Attack me now, I want to _know_ –"

She stepped back and brought up her barrier, a brilliant red orb that surrounded her and illuminated the entire hallway.

Nakago stood for a moment, weighing his options. It would be so easy to simply walk away, to turn his back on her questioning eyes and breathless stare, to leave the miko alone in the hallway, with this issue firmly unresolved between them. It did not matter to him one way or another if she knew what had actually transpired at Hokkan –

But he realized suddenly that it mattered very much to the miko. Her eyes, which watched his every movement, were filled with an anxious sort of uncertainty, as though everything depended on what he did in the next minute.

Really though, she already knew the answer to the question she was asking. What harm would it do to attack?

And so he launched his offensive – drawing out just enough power to shatter the barrier, and not enough to do any serious harm. The attack slammed through the barrier, obliterating the miko's red shield as though it had never existed. The miko stumbled backward, landing with a soft 'whump!' on her rear on the flagstones –

– and laughed.

There were tears in her eyes; they hung there unshed, but the miko was _laughing_. It was a disbelieving sound, a sound that managed to be happy and incredulous all at once. For a brief moment, Nakago wondered sardonically whether the miko Taiitsukun had chosen to rescue the world was quite entirely stable.

He offered a hand to help her up, and she took it and rose to her feet. Her pale skirt was covered in dirt and dust that had been tracked in from the garden, but she didn't seem to care.

"Thank you," she said. "I – thank you, Nakago."

He did not reply, but his silence seemed to be enough for her. She smiled and turned to go.

He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "Your normal shield is powerful, and sufficient to block most attacks, miko," he said. "That one is an unusual assault that will shatter most shields, two attacks in succession that appear as one; and the second comes after the shield has been weakened by the first. It is not hard to learn to block such an attack."

He stopped, not quite understanding what had prompted him to tell her this. Somehow it seemed important that she know the extent of her powers, that she know that she _was_ powerful enough to defend herself if she needed to. Not just because she ought to know for the purposes of her quest – though that was part of it. But also because –

_Because what? _a snide voice whispered in his mind. _Because it's the _rightthing_ to do? Have your interactions with the people of Eiyou made you soft, Seiryuu no seishi? _

The miko didn't seem to notice his distraction. She was beaming at him, surprised but not unhappy. "I – thanks, Nakago." It struck him how very few times she had actually smiled at him. The smile lit up her face radiantly, highlighting the smoothness of her skin, the soft angle of her cheekbones. "I guess I do still have a lot to learn about this self-defense business."

"We can resume lessons tomorrow." He noticed, with some amusement, the slight grimace that crossed her features. "What's the matter, miko? Do you find our lessons so distasteful?"

"Of course not," she snapped. "Tomorrow morning would be fine. I'll find you in the morning. Where are you staying, anyway?"

"In a room between Amiboshi and the Byakko seishi. Apparently the Emperor of Hong-Nan believed that that is where you would be safest from me."

The miko's eyebrows lifted. "Seeing as how you managed to sneak into my room in the middle of the night to take back your belongings, I don't think Hotohori's plan was particularly effective." She let out a soft sigh and started toward her room. "I suppose I ought to prepare for that meeting you were talking about. Oh, _damn_ –"

"Graceful as ever, I see," he said drily, watching her trying to mop up the remains of a bowl of soup that she had half-tripped over as she made for the door to her rooms.

"Shut up. That was my lunch." She cast a sad glance toward the dumplings that littered the floor. "I suppose I should get a rag or something –"

She threw open the door to her room. He saw her start forward, businesslike.

And then, without warning, she stopped, freezing as though she had been struck by lightning. He saw her back framed in the doorway to the room, shoulders stiffening – as though she was suddenly, inexplicably, paralyzed with horror –

Alarmed, he strode forward, wondering what could have elicited this reaction. He felt nothing alarming in the miko's room, certainly no trace of a demon presence. But perhaps any presence was cleverly masking itself – and he did sense a kind of strange energy.

A very interesting kind of energy, not of a person, but of a very _familiar _magical object –

Eyes narrowing, Nakago looked over the miko's shoulder and into the room.

The _shin_ was open on the miko's bed, twin halves parted to reveal a memory in microcosm, a sliver, a slice from Ayuru's past.

_A girl, hair like gold flax, lying flat on a bed. Eyes closed, hair spread in a fan around her head. Pale as wax, blue lips, un-breathing. An empty vial at her side: poison, or some lethal toxin with _

_Taria, dead._

_A boy, hair like Taria's, white-faced, staring, emotionless as stone. A cup shattered with the force of his grip. Glass scattered around him – and blood, wet and viscous, dripping from a thousand cuts on his fingers to mingle with the shards on the floor –_

-v-

"What is this?"

Miaka flinched. Nakago's voice was dangerous; his eyes, cold with fury. She followed him with her eyes, transfixed, watching as his eyes moved emotionlessly over the scene. With a fluid movement, he swept the _shin_ up, off the bed.

"This is not yours, Miko."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she bowed her head slightly. Her voice was almost a whisper.

It was not true. She was not sorry. She was desperately sad, but not sorry. He would never have let her see this memory if she had not stolen it from him.

Nakago was silent. The only sound in the room was the sound of the two halves of the _shin_ clicking shut in his palm, hiding the image of Ayuru, of Taria dead on the bed.

But, even out of sight, Miaka could still see them. She thought of the bleeding, thin-lipped boy, whose eyes were colder than Arctic ice as they regarded the dead form of Taria on the bed. She turned her eyes toward the man he had turned into, and in him, she saw the same icy coldness, as though a critical part of his heart had been sealed and shuttered.

Had this been the moment that coldness settled over Ayuru – that his heart had hardened – that he had grown distant, incapable of letting anyone past his defenses? Without thinking, Miaka's eyes dropped to his hand, to the hand that had held the shattered cup. A scar, faint and white, made a line at the juncture where his thumb met his palm.

He was striding from the room.

"Wait!" said Miaka, and she caught his sleeve in her hands. He brushed her aside, but she followed him, unable to help herself, because there were things that she still did not understand. "That girl!" she said desperately. "Taria! How did she –"

"She killed herself." There was a note of viciousness in Nakago's voice that caused Miaka to flinch. But she could not hold back her next question, which seemed to spring, uncontrolled, to her lips:

"Did you love her?"

A pause. Miaka fought not to cringe as Nakago met her gaze with eyes like ice.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "I suggest you rest before the meeting."

He shut the door.

Miaka collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her hands. If she let loose a few sobs into the shelter of her pillow, there was no one close enough to hear.

-v-

**Author's note:**

Aaaaah – that was the hardest chapter to edit ever! It's put me way behind schedule, grr! And why do these chapters just seem to be getting longer and longer?

Thanks so much to _tohru78, Desert Renaissance, Helena, Nile1283, Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan, _and _alex _for your awesome reviews and comments. I'm glad you liked the last chapter… particularly Relieved!Nakago and Chill!Hotohori.

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. I'm betting there will be some repercussions for prying into Ayuru's past…? **

Yep. We haven't seen the end of it yet. Heh heh heh.

**2. Haha, the image of Nakago and a girlish pink diary!**

Oh, god. –Leaves to scrub her brain with soap-

**3. NOOOOOOO! SAY IT ISN'T TRUE! TELL ME IT'S NOT NURIKO THAT POISONED MIAKA!**

Sorry. ~_^

**4. When will we figure out what that secret look between Nuriko and Hotohori means?**

Oh… heh… The significant look they exchange in the last chapter was basically Hotohori reassuring Nuriko that he would be okay and that he didn't think Nakago would kill him. It was mostly just me trying to illustrate that they actually do have a pretty deep connection/are able to understand each other very well, even without speaking. I don't think I did a very good job (I actually wish I had time to explore their relationship deeper – but I do need to finish this story at some point –whines-)

**5. Hotohori was too cool! In fact, in this chapter, I liked him more than Nakago.**

Yay! I like Hotohori too. While we're on the subject of Hotohori… Awhile back, a bunch of people were asking if Hotohori's past feelings with Miaka were going to produce a love triangle between Nakago, Hotohori, and Miaka. The way I see it, Hotohori is just too honorable for that to ever happen, even if he didn't love Nuriko, which he does. Of course, his past feelings for Miaka DID cause trouble as we just saw – but in the form of Jealous!Nuriko instead of a love triangle…

Although I never said there wouldn't be a love triangle in this story…

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

A lot of things going on in this chapter (and waaay too many POV switches for my happiness). Nuriko's identity as the poisoner being discovered. Amiboshi turning up, Miaka resolving her Hokkan issues, Nakago's memories. Did everything make sense, or seem to? Did you find the transitions from one subject and/or character to another to be too abrupt?


	39. So if you must falter

…

**XXXIX**

**So if you must falter**

…

Miaka might have stayed in bed for the entire day, had it not been for the meeting that afternoon. She thought she would be early, but when she arrived at the Great Hall, almost everyone was already present. The mood in the room was tense, but Hotohori and Amiboshi sent her encouraging smiles as she tiptoed into the room, trying not to be noticed.

The long table at which they had eaten that morning had been replaced with one that was smaller and square, and there were ten chairs arrayed round it, two still empty. Miaka paused for a moment, pondering her options, before sliding into the empty chair beside Nakago. The only other open seat was directly across the table from Nakago, and Miaka knew that she was not up to being at the receiving end of Nakago's cold glares for the duration of an entire meeting.

In addition to the emperors, most of the seishi – visiting or otherwise – were in attendance at the table. For the first time, Miaka wondered at the politics of placing seishi and emperors in a meeting together. Back in the Shijintenchisho, Hotohori had welcomed the celestial warriors to his war-council on the eve of battle – but then, he was a seishi himself. Miaka could not imagine the late Emperor of Kutou attending meetings with his seishi, much less taking breakfast with them. _But we're in Hong-Nan_, she thought, _so maybe we're playing by Hotohori's rules now._

Still, Miaka felt faintly unsettled as she studied the faces of the other emperors. Amiboshi had pointed them out to her that morning, but they had not been formally introduced. The emperor who sat across from her – Amiboshi had said his name was Lord Sadao, and that he was from Hokkan – looked distinctly sour about his present company. He was very young, but unlike Hotohori, who seemed to radiate an air of calm, this man had a square jaw and the air of a man who is easily roused to anger. Watching him, Miaka felt a shiver of disquiet.

She turned next to the Emperor of Sairou, who sat on the western side of the table. Unlike Lord Sadao, Lord Kazuhiko looked perfectly at ease. He had a softness about his face that suggested he might be something of a romantic, and he seemed the sort of man who wore an expression of perpetual cheer. His balding head nodded back and forth as he chatted with Subaru about the price of cloth in Eiyou. They seemed to be old friends. But of course, Lord Kazuhiko had probably grown up hearing stories about the Byakko seishi. They had probably been frequent visitors to his palace.

Miaka glanced back at Lord Sadao, who was eyeing her with a sour pucker to his lips, as though he had just swallowed peas dipped in wasabi. Genbu, Miaka remembered, had been the first god to be summoned. Perhaps that explained why the Emperor of Hokkan – who could be no more than twenty-five – seemed so at odds with the current situation. Had any of the Genbu seishi even been alive when Lord Sadao was born?

Pensively, Miaka turned to the Hong-Nan side of the table. At least _here_ she was guaranteed a friendly face. Miaka caught Nuriko's eye. The purple-haired seishi gave Miaka a bracing wink, jerked her head in Lord Sadao's direction, and made a face. Miaka smiled, feeling her spirits ease a little. Nuriko looked happy, and Miaka was relieved. She could pretend, for the moment, that the mess this afternoon had not happened. To say she was not shaken about Nuriko's attempt to make her sick would have been a lie – and yet Miaka had not been lying when she told Nuriko she was forgiven. Miaka could only imagine the desperation that had driven Nuriko to such an act. And Miaka had not helped either, with her blind insistence on seeing Hotohori, not even considering how her presence might rekindle his memories of her. She remembered what she had said about Hotohori, about emperors having two wives more easily than normal people. At the time, she had meant it as a joke, a means of illustrating why Nuriko's suggestion that Miaka 'move on' was frankly ridiculous. Now, Miaka cringed a little at how carelessly she had spoken the words.

Tokaki entered, taking the final seat at the table opposite Nakago, and Miaka's thoughts – which had been drifting – landed solidly back in the realm of the meeting. For the first time, Miaka bothered to actually study the seating arrangement in detail. What she saw unnerved her slightly.

On the northernmost side of the table sat the Emperor of Hokkan, Suboshi, and Amiboshi. Miaka caught Amiboshi's eye briefly; his visage was carefully neutral, though Miaka was certain that one pocket of his flowing robes concealed his flute. To the west sat the Emperor of Sairou, flanked by Tokaki on one side and Subaru on the other. And to the south sat Hotohori and Nuriko.

Which left Nakago and Miaka on the eastern side.

By the seating arrangements and the geography of the four kingdoms, Miaka supposed this meant the two of them represented Kutou. But that was absurd. Nakago was not emperor – had he not said, quite convincingly, that he didn't care about the fate of Kutou until he got his powers back? And she, the Suzaku no Miko, was firmly allied with Hong-Nan. Perhaps she had taken the seat Suboshi was supposed to have, though that would have placed her on the Hokkan side of things, and lord knows why she should sit _there_.

…Perhaps she was reading too much into this.

Nonetheless, Miaka began to feel the first curl of nausea percolate her stomach. It could have been the result of overeating, or it could have been dread, the kind of dread one's subconscious supplies when it sees that a maelstrom is on the horizon.

Miaka sincerely hoped it was the former.

Worse situations were imaginable (Tasuki could have been there), and Hotohori bore an air of calm civility that Miaka admired. But the animosity in the room was almost palpable, all of it directed toward the azure-eyed former general of Kutou who sat to her right. Kutou was not popular. Kutou was reviled. Nakago was known, even in Hokkan and Sairou. Miaka had the sinking feeling that the faux calm that had instilled itself over the ruling leaders would be shattered by the end of the afternoon.

As if channeling her thoughts, Tokaki's brows lowered, eyes narrowing to an expression of deep suspicion as he glared at Nakago across the table. His eyes were dark and snapping, and he was bristling more impressively than a hedgehog on steroids. "Why is _he_ here?" he said.

"We've discussed this," said Hotohori.

"You're an idiot," said Tokaki, "but you're emperor here, and this ain't Sairou, so who am I to argue? All right. I warn you now, one funny move, and I kill him where he stands. Sits. Whatever. Miaka, you can swap places with me."

"What?" said Miaka, thoroughly nonplussed.

"You lot have no sense," said Tokaki. "Whose bright idea was it to place the miko, on whose shoulders the fate of the entire world rests, next to _him?_"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Miaka, folding her arms, deliberately _not_ looking at Nakago as she added: "If Nakago wanted to dismember me, he would have done that by now. I've been traveling with him for the last month."

"All right," said Tokaki, glaring around the table. "Be a pack of fools, then. See if I don't say 'I told you so.'"

"Byakko's bushy tail!" Subaru said, smacking him on the arm. "This is a historic moment, all the Emperors gathered together to hold a council of war, and you have to ruin it by insulting everybody."

"_He _ain't no Emperor," Tokaki said, with a deep scowl at Nakago.

"No," said Nakago pleasantly, "I am, however, the closest in line for the throne of Kutou, since the former emperor had no remaining male heirs alive at the time of his death."

"Well isn't that convenient," said Tokaki.

Nakago smiled dangerously, his eyes narrowing. "I assure you, it was by the former Emperor's own orders that his heirs were slaughtered, and not by my actions."

Subaru cleared her throat. Perhaps she had caught the murderous glint in her husband's eye. "Right, folks," she said briskly. "We're all here now, and we'll be at this all day if we don't cut to the chase, so I'll make this quick. We're here to discuss demons. I guess you've all seen them. I'll-looking things with red eyes. They're taking over, and if we don't act, we'll all soon be dead."

"And what gives you the right to speak address this table, old woman?"

Miaka felt her spirits, already subdued, spiral even further downward at Lord Sadao's question. She saw Subaru raise an incredulous eyebrow at Lord Sadao, who sat, arms folded, a scowl on his clean-shaven face.

"I do not understand," he said, a slight sneer crossing his face, "why these _peasants_ –" (Sadao made a general gesture at the seishi nearest him, who bristled). "– and _females_ have been allowed to attend this meeting."

_Oh, so he's one of _those_ people._ Miaka felt her respect for this man slip another notch. She opened her mouth indignantly. But to Miaka's surprise, it was an amused-looking Lord Kazuhiko who rose to Subaru's defense.

"This woman," he said, placing a hand on Subaru's shoulder, "is one of the Byakko seishi of legend. If riled, she has the power to turn back the clock on your short life to before you were born –"

"Probably," Subaru muttered.

"– so I would advise her to treat you with a modicum of respect. As for Suzaku Seishi and Empress Nuriko –"

"Actually, I'm retired," Nuriko cut in, waving an apologetic hand.

"But the Suzaku no Miko could easily blast you out of existence if she was so inclined," Nakago said smoothly. Miaka did not like the calculating expression on his face.

Hotohori shot Nakago a confused look. _Oops, _Miaka thought guiltily, _I probably should have warned him. _Nuriko looked unsurprised. Then again, the Empress _had_ seen Miaka's display in the hallway when Miaka was trying to defend Nuriko from Nakago.

"So," said Lord Sadao to Hotohori, with a mocking gesture around the table, "this is why you have called us here? To discuss creatures – I'm sorry, priestesses, celestial warriors, and _demons_ – from a fairytale?"

But it was Nakago, not Hotohori, who answered the Emperor of Hokkan – answered him in level, measured tones that were completely at odds with the tight atmosphere that pervaded the drawing room. "Yes," he said, ignoring the startled looks, the mouths that open in response to his replying when the Hong-Nan Emperor was the one addressed. "That is why I have called you here."

Miaka had known, as soon as she stepped into Hotohori's drawing room, that chaos would eventually erupt. It was inevitable, the only thing that _could_ occur when sworn enemies were brought into close enough contact.

But she had not expected it to erupt so soon – certainly not _this_ soon, five minutes into the meeting. And yet, heads were turning – and Miaka clutched her chair, fingers growing white against the armrests. There was only one way for this to end, and that was badly.

"_You_ called us here?" said Lord Kazuhiko. He laughed. "Not so, not so at all! We were summoned here by _him_ –" He waved his hand at Hotohori, who smiled, though anyone could see he was not happy with the current situation.

"Actually, Lord Kazuhiko," Hotohori said quietly, "we did not summon you here. But we find it most fortunate that you are here now."

"But the messenger," said Kazuhiko in tones of deep confusion. "The messenger who arrived at the Sairou capital claimed he was from Hong-Nan and not Kutou. The seal on the message he carried – his livery –"

A cold smile touched Nakago's lips, just for a moment. "It's good to know the people of Sairou are so trusting," he said calmly. "I shall keep that in mind for future reference."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees. Lord Kazuhiko closed his mouth, face pale, tight-lipped. Tokaki looked ready to throttle somebody.

"Before I departed Kutou and went to the aid of a certain Suzaku no Miko," said Nakago, "I thought it wise to provide some insurance, that the miko's task could be completed in a timely fashion. Inviting the ruling heads to Kutou was never an option; not one among you would have appeared… but gathering all the Emperors at Eiyou was another matter entirely. I capitalized on your trust of Lord Saihitei, who thus far has maintained his reputation for honesty. If he sent the invitation for a Council of Emperors – who among you would refuse it?"

"You –" Miaka whispered, and then she faltered and broke off.

Did this mean, she wondered, that Nakago had been on her side all along, that he had planned to summon the gods, to gather the objects from the four Emperors in one place at one time?

Hardly likely, she thought – no, Nakago's move to gather all the Emperors together could as easily have originally been part of a plan to aid Tenkou and to further his own ambitions. With all the artifacts in one place, it would be a simple matter for Tenkou to capture and destroy them at the earliest opportunity. Miaka was starting to realize that with Nakago, plans were multifunctional, ever-changing to fit the present moment. Nakago, to the best of his ability, took absolute advantage of the situation. All of his actions, until Tomo's attack, had been specifically ambiguous; he could be serving her or Tenkou, and switch in that decision on the drop of a dime. In a word, Nakago was an opportunist.

"What, may I ask," Miaka asked Nakago, "are you hoping to gain from all this?"

"The Emperors of Hokkan, Sairou, and Hong-Nan have something I require," said Nakago. "I, in turn, have something they require. We need not make this difficult."

"And what thing do you wish to trade, insolent brat?" Tokaki was livid.

"Taiitsukun has decided that four seishi must accompany the miko. A representative for each of the four gods."

Miaka had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"I am the chosen seishi of Seiryuu," said Nakago, confirming her worst fears. His cold smile that sent shivers down her spine. "My presence will be required at the summoning ceremony. Whether I choose aid you in summoning the gods and dispatching the demon threat depends entirely on whether you agree to my conditions and terms."

Subaru was staring at Nakago, an expression of horrified fascination on her face now.

The room was interrupted suddenly by a harsh laugh. Miaka sighed and turned – once more – to face Lord Sadao. He was really starting to irritate her.

"Surely –" he said, "surely you cannot believe this – this _Hin_. Demons are the stuff of legends – myth –"

"Shut up, whelp," growled Tokaki. He held up his arm, which bore a long scar from wrist to elbow. "D'you think I got _this_ wound from an ordinary man?"

Far from convincing Lord Sadao, this action seemed to further convince the Emperor of Hokkan that he had found himself in a room of lunatics. He recoiled from the arm Tokaki was shaking in his face, his lips twisting with disgust, until Subaru grabbed her husband by the shoulder and forced him to stop.

"I can attest to the fact that the demons are real," said Lord Kazuhiko ruefully. "A band of them attacked us on the way here. Lost half my men. Real shame."

"I saw no demons on the road," said Lord Sadao, amusement still flickering in his eyes.

"That," said Amiboshi, "is because my brother and I deflected the attack before it could impact Your Majesty. You saw none of them, but they were present."

He seemed to be wondering now if he had done the right thing, or if he should have let the Emperor Sadao handle some of them himself.

"Emperor Sadao," Miaka said, and she called up a small ball of fire, barely bigger than an apple, and held it up like a beacon. Others in the room watched too, fascinated, as she tossed it carefully from side to side before letting it vanish again.

"The stories are real, Your Majesty," she said. "So are the demons. If this doesn't convince you, I can show you other things that will."

"Trickery," Lord Sadao said dismissively.

Miaka's hands balled into fists. _He is _really_ starting to annoy me – more than Nakago, if that's even possible!_

Lord Kazuhiko seemed to have decided to proceed as though Lord Sadao wasn't present. He turned to Nakago. "So as I understand it," he said, resting his chin on his hands, "without you helping the miko with the summoning ceremony, there will be no hope of summoning the gods and exterminating the demons. You've got us in a bind. Fine. But we haven't heard your side of the bargain. What is it you want from the deal, Seiryuu seishi?"

"Recognition," Nakago said. "After Tenkou is defeated, you will acknowledge my standing as Emperor of Kutou. If I should require it, you will provide the military support necessary to establish me as ruler."

Distantly, Miaka realized her mouth was open. She should probably close it. She was staring at Nakago in a fashion most unbecoming, eyes wide, lips gaping, hands halfway to her mouth.

She felt fury fill her; knew he felt the spike in chi that arose from her corner of the table, for his eyes flicked toward her. But he had more pressing opposition to attend to than hers. Tokaki was utterly livid.

"And what right-minded fool would agree to this plan?" he said now, face red, eyes snapping with fierce rage. "With you as Emperor, what's to stop you invading Hong-Nan and razing it to the ground, eh?"

"The powers of the Suzaku seishi will be returned by then."

"Never stopped you before," Tokaki snarled.

Miaka's initial spike of fury was fading, replaced by a muted confusion. She wondered, suddenly, what Nakago was playing at. Could Nakago truly be satisfied with ruling only Kutou? Was this his foot in the door that would lead him to conquer all the rest of the kingdoms? Why not simply demand all of the four kingdoms, and be done with it?

But all this was surely a moot point, she thought suddenly; a more immediate danger lay ahead of them now, the kudoku-substance that crept toward his heart. Either Nakago's priorities were severely skewed, or he was toying with them all. Or maybe he knew a way to get around the kudoku – no. He had said himself that there was no way.

Miaka realized suddenly that the entire room had gone silent. "Miaka?" said Hotohori, and she jumped and stared at him. For some reason there was silence now; the entire hall was watching her, even Nakago, and his eyes were glinting strangely. She had missed something. Miaka blinked and called up the echo of the words Nakago had just spoken:

_"As an added guarantee of our cessation of hostility, the Suzaku no Miko will be accompanying me to Kutou, where she has already promised to… I believe the charming phrase was, 'keep an eye on me'. Will this be satisfactory?"_

Miaka felt her mouth go dry as she realized that eight pairs of eyes were staring at her intently. Her lips parted slightly, but for a moment no sound came out. Her jaw seemed to be doing the same thing that apples do when they are released from five-story windows, except without the splatting sound of fruit on concrete. Mutely, she turned to face Nakago. The corners of his mouth were lifted, ever-so-slightly, and his eyes glimmered with something that hard, almost malevolent.

_This _was his revenge, she realized suddenly. This was his payback for opening the _shin_ and prying into memories she had no right to see – _this_ was her punishment.

Miaka forced her jaw to close. She swallowed hard, clenching her hands under the table. Dimly, she noticed that the entire room seemed to be holding its breath, as though in anticipation. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to speak, to offer some sort of explanation. Lord Sadao and Suboshi seemed to be glaring at her; Lord Kazuhiko, Tokaki, and Subaru were watching her with bewilderment, and Amiboshi and Hotohori were sending her such concerned looks that she wanted to bang her head against the table. Miaka forced herself to look away from them. She turned to face Nakago. "When did I –" she began and cleared her throat. "When did I _ever _say that I would come to Kutou to keep an eye on you?"

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Nakago raised his eyebrows. Despite her agitation, Miaka marveled at the ease with which he managed to look simultaneously surprised and mocking. "I believe that was the nature of your promise to Soi on the night we left Souen," he said, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "Am I wrong?"

_The night we left Souen._

_Your promise to Soi. _

Miaka's insides did a funny sort of hop-skip-jump that had nothing to do with the remains of the beef stew she had consumed earlier. For a moment, she thought Nakago was reading her mind. He should not have known. How _could_ he have known? He had been asleep –

At least, they had _thought_ he was asleep.

But – Miaka realized suddenly – Nakago slept so lightly that nothing could truly get past him. The simple act of placing a barrier around him on the night of Tomo's attack had been sufficient to rouse him from slumber. And for all she and Soi had tried to be quiet that night, the cramped quarters of the cave meant that they had been only a half-dozen feet from Nakago. Of _course_ Nakago would have been woken by the sound of their voices; of course he would have said nothing, simply listened, for he had no scruples, and eavesdropping would never perturb him.

And Soi must have known that Nakago would be woken by their conversation. Soi had been with Nakago far longer than Miaka, would have known his sleeping patterns better than anyone. Had Soi actually meant for Nakago to hear everything: Nakago's history, Miaka's promise to protect?

Or perhaps Soi had simply been desperate and had not cared if Nakago heard them or not. That was also possible.

Miaka tried to recall the exact words she had spoken to Soi that night. It was hard. The intervening trek through the mountains, Tomo's attack, and the current state of affairs in Eiyou, had rendered the entire affair a hazy blur in her mind, part truth, part fabrication. She did not know what was real anymore.

"Miaka?" said Hotohori, and she drew a breath. "Is this true?"

Miaka drew a breath. The truth, she was starting to realize, was a complicated thing. Nakago made it even more complicated, twisting it to meet his needs when it suited him. She had promised to keep Nakago safe from harm, to 'watch' Nakago. She had certainly never said she would follow Nakago back to Kutou. But though she had never explicitly made such a promise, Miaka realized suddenly that there was no other way she _could_ keep an eye on Nakago effectively.

"Miaka?"

She swallowed. "Yes," she said, although it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "Yes, it's true, I did say –"

But even as she said the words, she realized that there was a bigger obstacle to her staying on as Nakago's protector. She was not even from this world! All this time, she had blindly assumed that she would be able to go back home after the gods were summoned – had, in fact, rested all her actions and hopes on this one silver lining. She would go back to a life of modern-day appliances and conveniences – back to school to take her entrance exams – back to her _family_ –

She _had_ to go home.

"Is there a problem?" said Nakago.

_Surely,_ Miaka thought, _surely Soi couldn't have expected me to keep an eye on Nakago after the gods were summoned. Surely she couldn't have expected me to stay in this world to watch over Nakago for the rest of my life. _Could_ she? _

She looked into Nakago's face and felt her heart sink. His eyes were still as cold and glacial as they had been two hours ago, when he had discovered the _shin_ on her coverlet. _Revenge_, she thought again, and a chill ran up her spine. But she had to say something, so she said: "I'm not originally from this world. I – that is – how long do you expect me to stay in Kutou?"

"I wasn't aware there was a time limit attached to your promise," said Nakago mercilessly. "However," he continued, as Miaka paled, "if the gods demand that you be sent home after the summoning, who am I to argue with the higher powers of our universe?"

She did not miss the irony in his voice. And she knew she was thinking the same thing as all the Suzaku seishi at the table, about the time Nakago _had_ taken a stand against the holy powers of the Shijintenchisho when he tried to manipulate Yui into making him a god.

"All right," said Miaka.

She pasted a lukewarm smile onto her face, trying desperately to indicate with her eyes that she would talk to the others about this topic later, in private, away from everyone else who was listening. When she thought no one was looking, she pressed both her hands to the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

-v-

Nuriko watched Miaka join the faction she that she was affectionately coming to call the 'People-Who-Want-to-Strangle-Nakago Society' (PWWSNS). Tokaki, the commander-in-chief of this faction, was currently glowering fit to kill in the blond seishi's direction. Subaru looked equally furious, and Kazuhiko and Sadao appeared to share her sentiments.

It was strange, Nuriko reflected, settling more comfortably in her chair. Two days ago, she would have been unequivocal vice president of any society with 'kill Nakago' as its motto. But her attitude toward the blond shogun was changing.

Nuriko was not a vindictive person. Her attempt to poison Miaka had been out of fear, not premeditated or calculated jealousy. She had panicked, and the outcome had almost led to disaster.

Would have led to disaster, if not for Nakago.

She massaged her bandaged fingers, which were still throbbing slightly under the table. It was odd, almost anathema, to think of the Nakago as a guardian angel. Yet there was no denying that he had saved her from a guilt too terrible to contemplate. She held no rancor towards him for his interference in the corridor; as a matter of fact, she was glad of it. The injuries she had taken had served to soothe some of the all-consuming guilt she had felt since the incident. For, despite Miaka's quick forgiveness, Nuriko could not help but feel responsible, could not help but desire pain – physical or emotional, it did not matter – to help her feel less horrible.

Now a few of her fingers were broken, and she felt just fine, chipper even. She was actually rather enjoying herself. Miaka could get furious and bothered if she chose, but Nuriko was hardly perturbed by Nakago's demands. She actually thought his requests were quite reasonable. If the Nakago of this world desired power – well, it couldn't be any worse than what Nakago of the Shijintenchisho had wanted. So what if he took a few of their soldiers? Kutou would be in civil war for years before he managed to get it under control again, and as long as Hong-Nan and the other countries banded up against the darling new Emperor of Kutou if he seemed about to cause trouble, he wouldn't be able to crush them too badly. And Miaka would not be his hostage, if that was what the others all thought.

Nakago, Nuriko realized, would not harm Miaka.

Oh, Nuriko was not fool enough to think Nakago loved Miaka or anything as silly as that. Her question to Miaka on that subject yesterday morning had only a joke, a means of goading Miaka out of her depression.

But she had seen Nakago help Miaka, not once, but twice now. He had saved Miaka from drowning – saved her _life _– and then he had deduced Nuriko's role in poisoning Miaka and tracked her down. Why else would he have been in that corridor?

And then there was the way he had spoken to Miaka after Nuriko had made her confession. Out of concern for her miko, Nuriko had hid just around the corner after Miaka had forgiven her. She had lurked out of sight, but not quite out of hearing range – and she had listened listened, just long enough to hear Nakago offer to teach Miaka to block his attack.

Like Mitsukake, Nuriko remembered the person Miaka had been after Tamahome's death. The Miaka of Now was so transformed it was almost breathtaking. There was still sorrow, still a faint darkness, but muted, as though death had come and savaged her but she had fought back. Who was responsible for Miaka's transformation? Surely not one of her seishi, who could hardly remember her when she was out of the room. Would Kutou be such a bad place for Miaka in the end? Rebuilding Kutou would give her purpose; being out of Eiyou would save her the constant reminder of Tamahome's death; and keeping Nakago from trouble would ensure that she did not fall into depression. She would be far too busy to think about crying.

So, as the other emperors scowled and Hotohori's eyes went dark with concern, Nuriko leaned forward and, grinning, patted Miaka on the hand. "Fantastic!" she said. "I really think this might turn out to benefit all of us!"

"What?" said Miaka.

"Have you lost your mind?" said Tokaki.

"I fully support Miaka's decision to go to Kutou," Nuriko said brightly. "I am very proud of her for taking such a bold and noble step in the defense of Hong-Nan, and of course Sairou and Hokkan! She is a wonderful and generous person, and she'll do a fabulous job keeping peace in the provinces and, well, doing whatever has to be done."

Her words were chipper, her smile genuine. The shock on Miaka's face was priceless. Nuriko blinked and tried not to let her lips twitch.

A chair scraped as it was pushed forcibly from the table. Amiboshi stood up, blue eyes blazing, face very worried. "I don't think Miaka should go!" he said, almost glaring at Nuriko. "Miaka belongs in Hong-Nan. She's _Suzaku's_ priestess."

"Well, maybe," Miaka muttered, so softly that Nuriko had to strain to hear. But the volume of Amiboshi's words – so unnaturally vehement they rang through the hall – seemed to have startled Miaka. They startled Nuriko as well. Nuriko's eyes traveled from Miaka to Amiboshi, and her face broke into a slow, almost predatory smile. It was the smile of a matchmaker on the prowl.

They were the same age (sixteen), shared many of the same desires, had warm hearts and kind dreams and an already-solid friendship. They were adorable together. Nuriko's eyes lit up, as they did when she recognized A Project.

"Why are you grinning?" Miaka asked cautiously. The tone of her voice suggested she strongly suspected Nuriko was losing her senses.

"I was not grinning," said Nuriko, indignant. "I was smiling daintily."

The others still looked as though a house was falling on them. The sight of their grim faces filled Nuriko with consternation. She stared at the grim-shocked-stern faces around the table and blew out a breath in a sigh. "For the love of Suzaku!" she cried, folding her arms. "It's a perfect solution. Miaka is strong enough to take care of herself. She'll send weekly reports to Hong-Nan to keep us informed. We'll know to invade if she stops sending them."

She caught Nakago's eyes, a wicked – almost sassy – expression playing across her face. Let the twice-cursed seishi of Seiryuu chew on that! Of course he would find a workaround – that would be trivial for a man of Nakago's mental powers – but Nuriko was also banking on the fact that it would take a few years for the messy civil wars in Kutou to subside. Anything could happen in a few years, and if Nakago made himself useful unifying the country in the meantime, that was all to the better. Nuriko didn't like civil war. It made trading prospects nasty (which was murder on her wardrobe), and warring factions had a habit of forgetting where Kutou's boundaries ended and making a mess of the Hong-Nan border towns.

She sat down. She had had her say, and now it was time for The Chaos to ensue. Nuriko plastered a smile on her face, folded her arms, and sat back to watch.

-v-

Miaka was not sure what had passed between Nuriko and Nakago just now; all she knew was that thanks to Nuriko's words, near pandemonium was breaking out around their table. Miaka quickly lost track of who wished to strangle who. It all seemed to be headed for a political free-for-all.

Nakago and Nuriko were watching, relaxed. Miaka envied them, and hated them a little, too. They were the ones who had gotten her into this mess. They were the reason that Emperor Sadao of Hokkan was currently shouting at the top of his lungs across the table, bawling at Hotohori:

"I fail to comprehend how your country, which is in a state of constant war because of this _Hin_, can possibly be consider swearing fealty to the shogun of Kutou!"

In his usual graceful manner Hotohori met this attack. "We would never swear fealty to the lord of another country," Hotohori responded. "There is a significant difference between swearing fealty and establishing an alliance."

"You tell him, Hotohori!" Miaka muttered. "Whatever that meant."

Amiboshi said: "How can you even consider this? Have you no thought for Miaka's safety?"

"The Suzaku no Miko will come to no harm under my care," Nakago said, eyes glittering. "At least she will be safe from misguided attempts to reconstitute her memories; that should reassure you."

"But will she be safe from the memories _you_ inflict upon her?" Hotohori asked, and it was clear that, for all he supported Nuriko, he was still skeptical of this plan, still mistrustful of Nakago's intents toward Miaka.

But Miaka was sick of being coddled, sick of the implication that she needed constant protection. "I'm right here, you know!" she said, a little too loudly.

Silence greeted her remark, but she did not care. She stared at them all defiantly, arms folded, chin raised. "I'll be fine," she said. "Don't worry about me." She turned to frown at Nakago. "I'm more worried about why you need soldiers from the other countries at all. Can't you just agree for all the countries to accept you as emperor and leave it at that?"

"Kutou is in a state of civil war," said Nakago, sounding almost bored. "The most expedient way to ensure a victory with the minimum amount of bloodshed is with an army."

Subaru's eyes darted a triangle path from Nuriko to Miaka to Nakago. "I'm in favor," she said, sounding anything but.

"Dear?" Tokaki said, in outraged tones.

"If these are the terms of completing the mission, then fine. Better to have his ambitions laid out in the open, rather than watch him conspire in the background and take all four kingdoms at once in a coup."

"I'm flattered that you think such a feat within my capabilities," Nakago said.

She snorted and met his eyes in a piercing glare that would have frightened any other man, including her husband. "That kind of talk might have worked on me when I was Miaka's age, but if you think I don't know what you're capable of… ! Oh! Men!" she muttered. "I'm getting too old for this."

Miaka supposed living with Tokaki for a hundred years would be enough to make any woman mistrustful of sweet-talking. She wondered whether she ought to feel insulted by the slight to her age group. After all, she did not fully trust Nakago either. Subaru's support for Nakago's proposal reassured her, however. Subaru was a Byakko seishi, old and wise.

But the support Nuriko and Subaru were ultimately unimportant; it was the emperors' decisions that mattered. They looked outraged (Lord Sadao), skeptical (Lord Kazuhiko), or pensive (Hotohori). Miaka knew they were wondering what Nakago's real aims were, whether his ambitions would stop at Emperor, whether he would rediscover his love of conquest and invade the surrounding countries once the gods were summoned –

She felt a prickle of fury fill her then. Had Nakago, she wondered, lost all sense of priority? Had he forgotten that kudoku was threading a slow, steady path toward his heart? That demons were currently marching down the Shoryuu-Gawa toward Eiyou? _That_ should be what everyone was worrying about, not this political foolishness! She glanced at Nakago, and saw, with a sinking heart, that trying to persuade him against his objective now would only be met with resistance. His expression was cool, amused, implacable. There would be no elasticity from that quarter, of course, but Miaka could not help but voice her indignation at the current state of affairs.

"You do remember," she said, "that there are perhaps hundred demons headed toward us at this minute along the river. I think there's something wrong with your priorities, because if the demons reach Eiyou, we'll all be in trouble, even you, Nakago, in which case this stupid ultimatum of yours won't even matter –"

"Exactly," he said, to her surprise. "The odds of our summoning the gods are low enough to render this proposition a near-pointless exercise. And yet – despite this fact – you still refuse to endorse it?"

She blinked. "I never said that," she said slowly, "I just said –"

"Ah. Then based on the unlikely odds of survival, you are in complete agreement with this plan?"

"Fine," said Miaka. "But-"

"And if by minor chance we do survive the ordeal, you would wish Hong-Nan, Hokkan, and Sairou to uphold their part of the agreement?"

"Of course," said Miaka, hardly considering what she was agreeing to, "but I don't think that–"

"The Suzaku no Miko is in agreement," Nakago said, in tones that implied boredom. "Do we have any further objections?"

Miaka crossed her arms, fuming. She could not recall hating anyone more than she hated Nakago at that moment. He had them all in a bind, refusing to help them until he had the agreement he was looking for, and really, they did not have time for this. What on earth would Tasuki say, when he arrived in Eiyou?

The thought of Tasuki, of Mitsukake and Chichiri, fueled her to action. Miaka leaned across the table, grasped the arm of her one-time dearest friend in the Shijintenchisho. e"Hotohori," she said, almost pleading. "There is a party of demons, at this minute, heading toward us along the Shoryuu-Gawa. If we don't summon the four gods, then all of us here will perish and none of this will even matter!"

"Miaka," said Hotohori, and he paused. She sensed what this was costing him. His eyes drifted to Nuriko, who raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. He turned worried eyes back to Miaka. "Are you _certain_?"

"Yes," Miaka said gently. "I am."

He hesitated, and then his face cleared. "I, Hotohori, Emperor of Hong-Nan,'' he said formally, "pledge my recognition of Emperor Nakago of Kutou, and promise reasonable support, on the occasions when he requires it, for the purposes of bringing the country to order. To Miaka, Priestess of Suzaku, I offer the royal sword of Hong-Nan, that she may complete her task."

-v-

He had expected more of a fight over his plan – had, truth be told, almost anticipated it. Lord Saihitei's agreement just now had surprised him. Certainly the empress had played a part in his decision – the woman was now grinning like a cat that had devoured a particularly large canary, for reasons he didn't understand – but Nakago suspected that the quick acquiescence of Saihitei to his plan had at least as much to do with the miko as it did with Nuriko.

He eyed her coldly, the girl who had seen into his most private memories that afternoon. Until that morning, Nakago had planned only to demand that the emperors of the west, north, and south recognize him as the rightful emperor of Kutou and offer him military aid as needed. The decision to include the miko in the deal had not been premeditated, but as soon as the words had rose to his mouth, Nakago had known it was the right choice. Having the priestess at his side – however unwillingly she chose to accompany him – could only add to his credibility. And the look of sheer horror that crossed her face at his declaration had been an added bonus.

He had caught her glancing at him from time to time, alternately bewildered, distraught, and furious. She did not understand how Nakago could be thinking about ultimatums now; she could only think of the immediate demon threat, of kudoku and the upcoming summoning. The Suzaku no miko was purely grounded in the present moment, in her current concerns. She had not learned to think ahead. Thinking ahead – and capitalizing on others' narrow views of the future – was something Nakago excelled at. While the other aspiring soldiers had been plotting their next promotion, _he_ had been contemplating not only his next promotion, but also his steady advancement from soldier to shogun, and then the coup that would lead to the Emperor's death.

Nakago watched as the Emperor of Hong-Nan completed his small speech. A soft hush had fallen over the table, as though a collective sigh had resounded through the hall. He watched the miko turn to the remaining emperors. "To summon the gods," she said, "I will also need the necklace of Hokkan and the mirror of Sairou."

Nakago saw Lord Kazuhiko lean toward her across the table. "We were set upon by demons three days ago, on the banks of the Shoryuu-Gawa," he said. "This heirloom was almost stolen. It has been in my family for years and is very precious to me."

"I will protect it," said the miko earnestly. "Thank you." And she smiled brilliantly at Lord Kazuhiko.

She was like an open scroll, Nakago thought dispassionately. She could convince emperors that she had nothing to hide, and she appeared so innocent, so earnest, that they trusted her implicitly. He wondered if the others even suspected that she had secrets. But of course, the sweet little miko of Suzaku _did_ have secrets. He doubted she had told her seishi about her wish to seal Suzaku – about the extent of her powers – about her little adventure with the _shin_ –

He kept his face perfectly neutral as Lord Kazuhiko turned toward him. The Lord of the West* paused to send a look of intense dislike in Nakago's direction. "If this is the only way," said Lord Kazuhiko, with an expression that suggested he was having his molars forcibly removed, "then I, too, will pledge my support to the new Emperor of Kutou."

That left Lord Sadao. Nakago knew, even before the man opened his mouth, that the outcome of _this_ entreaty would not be in the miko's favor. Dispassionately, he studied the Lord of the North's tight-lipped face and snapping eyes. This ought be interesting.

"Lord Sadao –" The miko faltered under the stony glare of the Lord of the North. "Will you –"

"I see no reason for Hokkan to offer anything," he said, a sneer coloring his face for a moment. "I'm not sure what this this farce of an emperors' council thinks it's doing, but Hokkan wants no part in it."

Nakago saw the miko's smile fade. Almost involuntarily, she glanced toward him, a silent entreaty. He ignored her.

He could have offered incontrovertible proof of the existence of seishi powers if he had wished to. His powers were strong now, fizzling beneath the surface of his skin; it would have been a simple matter to immobilize the disagreeable Lord of the North where he sat, to force a pledge of support from his lips. But it was so much more amusing to watch the miko struggle.

"If you will not provide your pledge," she said, and he caught the note of desperation in her voice now, "then at least, the necklace of Hokkan?"

"A valuable item that has been in the family for generations, to a self-proclaimed priestess of dubious origin?" One eyebrow raised. "I think not," he said. A funny smile graced his lips. "Strange," he said, "In all the legends, priestesses were pure, yet Amiboshi tells me that you were once married – and I also must wonder what sorts of situations you found yourself in, traveling to Hong-Nan with only the shogun of Kutou for company…"

"Now see here!" said Lord Kazuhiko. "There's no call for that sort of talk."

Nakago's eyes drifted around the table. The miko's lips eyes were wide; her face was a mask of indignation. For a moment, Nakago's gaze landed on Amiboshi, who was white-faced, tense, and furious. _Hmm. _

He filed this observation away for future analysis as his eyes moved on to Lord Sadao. The insolent idiot actually wore a triumphant sneer, as though he had said something particularly witty. _What a fool, _Nakago thought. _He doesn't even need me to dig his grave for him. _ With amusement, Nakago noted the tenseness in the jaws of the Lords of the South and the West, the tightness in the muscles of their arms that suggested their hands were clenched beneath the table. Lord Sadao's disagreeableness had certainly burned a number of bridges that day.

"Would you care to finish that sentence, Lord Sadao?" Nakago asked pleasantly.

The Emperor of Hokkan's sneer seemed to fade a little at the hidden threat in Nakago's voice. His smile slipped a few more notches as Nakago allowed the blue symbol to flash, vibrantly and menacingly, across his forehead.

But Lord Sadao rallied himself quickly. "Oh, I don't think I want to," he said, the sneer returning to his face full-force. "I believe I have had enough exposure to what passes for leadership in the other three kingdoms for the time being. I am finished here."

He bowed mockingly and stormed from the room.

For a moment, there was silence, and then the Empress of Hong-Nan leapt from her seat. "That nasty little meat-headed _twit_!"

"Nuriko, stop –"

"Where are you –"

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, that's what! He has no call to be talking about _purity_ when his own heart's coal-black."

"Oy." Tokaki grabbed Nuriko and shoved her back into her seat. "You ain't helping matters."

"Get your hands off my chest!"

"Tokaki's right." Though the miko's words were soft, Nakago noticed that everyone instantly ceased their bickering and turned to stare at her. "We can shout at Lord Sadao all we like, it still won't make him inclined to help us."

"Really," said Suboshi. His arms were crossed, and he looked thoroughly bored by the proceedings. "We don't _need_ his help. We just need his mirror."

"We also need him to agree to support Nakago as emperor," said Subaru pensively.

"Two lords have already promised support – that ought to be enough for his nibs," said Tokaki, glaring at Nakago as though all of this was his fault.

Lord Saihitei turned to Nakago. "What is your opinion?" he asked. "Is this acceptable?"

Everyone was eying him worriedly, as though wondering whether or not he would refuse to accept this modification to his plan. Everyone, that was, except the miko, who frowned and said, "It had better be!" and added her glare to Tokaki's.

_Is that a _threat, _Suzaku no miko?_ He was actually amused. Her eyes were snapping with annoyance, her brows lowered in obvious rage. Nakago paused over his answer, drawing out the silence until she began to squirm, and then declared, "It will suffice for the present time," Nakago said.

"And the mirror?" said Subaru.

Nakago chuckled. He saw the miko's look of relief turn to one of momentary alarm, saw her eyes snap toward his face with consternation. "I am certain," said Nakago, and even Tokaki drew back slightly at the way his eyes glittered, "that a solution to the problem of the mirror will soon present itself."

And, with a last, cold smile, the new Emperor of Kutou strode from the room.

* * *

*While editing this chapter, I had a WTF moment where I read "Lord of the West" and thought "What is Sesshomaru doing in my story?" -headdesk-

* * *

**Author's note:**

If all of you are currently going "What the hell was that?" I don't blame you. SUCH A LONG CHAPTER WITH SO MUCH BADLY-WRITTEN POLITICS. Ugh. I'm pretty sure this chapter sounds like it's on crack. And I'm also pretty sure there would actually be some serious protocol barriers to emperors and seishi meeting together like this. And can I just say how much I hate trying to write chapters when there are ten people in the same room? I always manage to forget somebody (I'm pretty sure Suboshi had like one line in this whole chapter) and it always takes forever to get anything done. (Actually I think that may be a feature of committees in general…)

Also, wtfgirlpower? That is not how I originally intended this to turn out, but I just realized that the women basically make all the decisions in this chapter (except Nakago, but he's the instigator) and then the guys are just like "Oh, FINE, if you say so, dear." Hehhhh… .

Anyway, thank BYAKKO'S BUSHY TAIL that's over! I promise the next bunch of chapters will not be so… politicky. NO MORE GIANT MEETINGS!

Ahem. Reviews! Wish to thank: _Nile1283, Helena, Desert _Renaissance, and _tohru78__. _You guys are awesome. Glad you liked the last chapter!

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. The scene with everyone around the same table seemed a little weird to me. Would visiting dignitaries all eat with seishi in that manner, like equals? **

Probably not. Oops. I think this was my muse being silly.

**2. What is a seishi's level in the social hierarchy in your world?**

Heh… that is a very good question. Depends on the kingdom. Lord Kazuhiko is obviously pretty chill with hanging out with the seishi (but then, he's pretty chill in general. Yay original characters) and he values Tokaki and Subaru highly. Lord Sadao is pretty much the opposite, since he didn't grow up around seishi and has a chip on his shoulder the size of Iceland. Hotohori's all "Dude, I'm a seishi myself, so whatevs!" And can you really imagine the late Emperor of Kutou eating with his seishi? No, I didn't think so.

**3. Having the emperors of Sairou and Hokkan appear in Hong-Nan seems VERY convenient and somewhat unbelievable…**

Yes. Yes it is. But just think! If I had actually made Nakago and Miaka travel to Sairou and Hokkan, this story would probably have been 120 chapters instead of 60 chapters and I might never have finished it. So clearly it was a necessary plot device ~_^

**4. I am kind of sad that Nuriko was the one that poisoned Miaka.**

What she did was stupid, especially for someone her age, but it sort of falls under the category of misguided-prank-gone-too-far. Like if Fred and George Weasley put puking pastilles in someone's cookies and then that person accidentally ate too many… I guess what I'm trying to say is: don't worry, Nuriko is still awesome and I love her to death.

**5. What I flinched at mildly, in this chapter ,was Nakago breaking Nuriko's fingers ...ouch! The fingers sticking out at odd angles description was distinctly alarming. Even with Nakago's propensity for violence, I wonder if he would do that to a woman, let alone an empress or a mother...especially when he was trying to get the husband to agree on a treaty with him.**

Oops. When I originally wrote it, I think I meant for it to be that Nuriko hit Nakago so hard she broke her fingers by accident, so it was sort of her fault. But I just looked back at the chapter and… yeah. I'll fix it.

**6. The ending of the last chapter puts Miaka in a harrowing situation… How will she get out of this one?**

I don't know, but I think she has even more to worry about now. Like the fact that she's just promised to go to Kutou with Nakago after they summon the gods.

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

Did it make sense? Did it get boring? I tried to intersperse enough inner dialogue/character analysis in between the random arguing to make it interesting – did that work?

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Except one or two rather stereotypical original characters.


	40. Be wise

...

**XL**

**Be wise**

...

Miaka did not know what to think in the aftermath of the meeting. In the space of two hours, she had witnessed Nakago's supreme manipulative skills spring into action; had seen Nuriko thoroughly and unaccountably lose her mind; had agreed to bind herself to Kutou after the end of the war with Tenkou; and had watched the emperors of Hokkan and Hong-Nan agree to support and help a hated enemy ascend to the throne of Kutou. She had a sinking suspicion that their agreement was mostly her fault – that, if Nakago's aspirations ever spread (as she feared they would) to the lands of Hong-nan or Hokkan or Sairou, then Miaka alone would be culpable. And yet, with demons quite literally on their doorstep and Nakago necessary for their annihilation but pretending not to care, had Miaka had any choice but to go along with his plan?

It was enough to give anyone a complex.

If not for Subaru's restraining arm, Miaka would have pursued Nakago as he strode from the room after the meeting. She was furious enough to consider attempting to encase Nakago in a chi-barrier for the next few days (though given his propensity for shattering these, she had no doubt her efforts would be ineffectual). But as Miaka, furious and seething, turned to follow Nakago, she felt a soft touch on her arm that felt like old, wrinkled skin; heard Subaru's voice say gently, "Let him go, Miaka."

"Why?" said Miaka, almost sharply, for anger was spiking to the surface along with the red fire that played about her fingers. She took a calming breath and met Subaru's eyes. "I was only going to ask him what he thinks he's doing. Maybe shout at him a bit. And Lord Sadao –"

"Let him handle Lord Sadao." Subaru looked at Miaka's hands, across which red energy still flickered sporadically. Miaka's gaze followed hers, and she grimaced and folded her arms.

"Throwing chi-blasts at the new Emperor of Kutou in the middle of the hallway is not the wisest of strategies," Subaru said serenely.

Miaka lowered her hand, a slight blush creeping up to suffuse her cheeks now. "I would have waited until we were out of the main hall," she said, a little sheepishly, and then fell silent.

Because Nakago's new title hung over both of them like a stormcloud. Miaka's eyes darkened, and Subaru said quietly, "Nakago is quite the strategist."

"I don't understand," said Miaka. "I don't understand what just happened. We're running out of time, and Nakago's going to _die_, and I don't think he even cares about ruling Kutou, so what on earth was he playing at this afternoon?"

"Nakago is going to die?" Subaru repeated, as though trying to be sure she had heard Miaka correctly.

"Tenkou poisoned him with kudoku," said Miaka. "This world's version of kudoku, I mean. He told me he only has a week and a half before it takes over."

"Meaning we have ten days left to summon the gods," said Subaru.

"Yes," said Miaka. Before the arrival of the Emperors of Hokkan and Sairou, such a task would have seemed impossible; now, it almost seemed within reach. And yet, if they were going to succeed, they had not a moment to lose. "We don't have time to waste playing political games," Miaka said sharply. "That's what's upsetting me. Nakago's going to die, and he doesn't even seem to care about that! I thought he wanted his powers back; I thought he needed Tenkou dead as much as we did –"

She was dancing around the real issue, but Subaru was gathering hints of it. The Suzaku no Miko had come to rely on Nakago so strongly in the last weeks that the meeting today had quite shocked her.

Subaru thought very carefully before speaking. Even now, she could not suppress a prickle of guilt for so readily supporting the plan to send Miaka to Kutou. While Miaka had clearly agreed to it, the miko had no idea what it really meant to be part of a war-torn country that was just rebuilding, and for that Subaru was a little sorry. Subaru wanted to make amends for signing Miaka's fate to Nakago so quickly, but even her vast life experience had not quite prepared her for this.

"Nakago's goal, I think, is still the same," said Subaru, and when Miaka opened her mouth, Subaru added, "Perhaps what the Emperor of Kutou enjoys more than anything is not the outcome of a confrontation, but the knowledge that his opponents are being thrown off balance."

Miaka paused, weighing this outlook against all she knew of Nakago. Subaru's words made a perverse kind of sense, when she thought about it.

"You're saying that Nakago gets a kick out of playing with our heads?"

Everything Miaka knew of Nakago seemed to agree frightfully well with this assessment. Emotional manipulation, that was what Nakago was skilled at, that was the thing that had added such turbulence to their practice sessions. Miaka rubbed her own forehead. When did everything become so complicated?

She barely realized that Subaru was leading her away from the hallway until they were halfway into the palace courtyard. The sun's bright heat struck her skin, and she fanned herself slightly. It was so much warmer in Eiyou than it had been in the mountains.

Miaka watched with some bemusement as Subaru detached her husband's hand from a serving-maid's side with a well-placed smack to the arm.

"Now," said Subaru, still glaring at Tokaki, "If some of us are finished chatting up women one fourth of our age, perhaps Miaka could take us on a tour around Eiyou."

Miaka's mouth opened.

"She really just wants to see the place where you and Tamahome used to live," Tokaki said wisely.

"Tokaki!" said Subaru.

They both eyed Miaka worriedly. At least, Subaru eyed Miaka worriedly and Tokaki looked as though he was trying not to appear to be eyeing Miaka worriedly. _Do they expect me to cry?_ Miaka thought distantly. _Am I supposed to start sobbing at any mention of Tamahome's name?_

"It's quite all right, you know," she said, smiling. "I've had two months to get used to the idea of Tamahome's death. It – it must be so much worse for you."

She swallowed down a vague feeling, perhaps of nausea. Meeting with Tokaki and Subaru was a thing Miaka had been trying to postpone.

"For someone who has lived as long as we have, Miaka," said Subaru, laying a hand on Miaka's arm. "Death does not hold so much horror."

They were still eying her, concern evident on their faces.

They didn't have time for this! Miaka thought. They had to get the necklace from Lord Sadao – had to get on their way to Hokkan –

On the other hand, Subaru had as good as said that Nakago was 'dealing' with Lord Sadao now – and the house was only a few minutes away. It had been so long since she had been back – and, depending on the outcome of their current quest, she might never get another chance –

Miaka turned away.

"The house is a few blocks away from the palace," she said, with a brightness she did not feel. "It shouldn't take long to get there at all. If we hurry, we can be there and back before dinner."

-v-

She had not returned to the house where she and Tamahome had once lived in two months – not since her haphazard departure from Eiyou into Kutou after the funeral. The walk was short, and Miaka tried her best to fill it with chatter. Fortunately, the meeting had raised enough questions for her to voice them without giving the impression that she was trying to make conversation to fill the void left by Tamahome's death.

"How far are the demons from Eiyou?" she asked, in an unnaturally cheerful voice that was almost drowned out by a market vendor's cry of "Fish! Fresh fish!" two stalls down. Tamahome had wanted to live close to the market; it had made trading so much simpler.

"Close," said Tokaki shortly, but he did not elaborate. She thought about asking how close but was afraid to know the answer. And Mitsukake, Tasuki, and Chichiri had still not arrived in Eiyou yet! Miaka chewed fretfully on a thumbnail before her next question forced her to remove the digit from between her teeth.

"Which one of you is the Byakko seishi who will be at the summoning ceremony?" she said.

"Her," said Tokaki, jerking a thumb at his wife, "but I'm coming, too, to keep her out of trouble."

Miaka nodded absently, ignoring Subaru's ironic snort. Another thought had just struck her, one that was even less pleasant than the thought of their imminent demise under demon attack.

If Subaru was the Byakko seishi, and Nakago was the Seiryuu seishi (and she had no reason not to believe that at least this much of what he said was true), that meant Miaka still had to determine the identity of the Suzaku and Genbu seishi who would also be present at the summoning ceremony. She was certain the appointed Suzaku seishi would come forward in time. But her mind stalled when it came to the seishi of Genbu. All the seishi from Genbu were long-dead. Why else would the guardians of the Genbu Shinzaho have taken spirit form in the Shijintenchisho?

"Tokaki, Subaru," she said cautiously. "Do you know if it's possible for a seishi to be reincarnated?"

Her heart thumped painfully in anticipation of Subaru's answer. If Tamahome was ever reincarnated, what would she do?

Even as she thought this, Miaka bit her lip. Tamahome's reincarnation would be a child, sixteen years beneath her in age. Would he even retain his memories of the times they had shared together? How strange and painful might it be to watch child-Tamahome grow into an adult, even as _she_ became an old woman!

So Miaka was almost relieved when Subaru answered, in a thoughtful and understanding voice:

"I do not know. I do not believe any of the Genbu seishi have been reincarnated."

Miaka's relief was quickly replaced by apprehension. If the Genbu seishi were truly dead, that left her in quite a bind. A dead seishi could not help Miaka to summon the gods. What could Taitsukun be planning, or had the old woman lost touch with her senses entirely?

"Taiitsukun is wise," Subaru said, but even she looked mildly daunted. "She will find a way for you to summon the four gods."

"I have no doubt about the summoning," Tokaki muttered darkly. "It's how many will die for it that leads me to wonder."

Even Subaru lacked the heart to reply to this. The rest of their walk passed in grim silence, and Miaka was almost glad when she caught sight of the brown walls and boarded-up windows of the house she'd shared with Tamahome before her husband's death.

-v-

The house had been selected with care, and at the time, she and Tamahome had thought it was perfect. It was just small enough to feel cozy, and just big enough to feel like home. There were flowers on the lawn, which were visible from the low kitchen windows, which let in plenty of light. The door was an old, polished oak, and it creaked pleasantly whenever you opened it.

But there was a mouldy smell at the door now, an odor of mildew, and the windows were boarded and dark. Miaka looked at the windows and then at the place where the flowers had once lined the walkway. Her palms were like melting ice, with a slick of damp upon their surface. She brushed the sweat off on her robes.

She pushed open the door. The dark behind it yawned before her, like the wide-open mouth of an old person, decrepit and toothless. Miaka swallowed and stepped into the cold foyer.

Her eyes adjusted quickly. Even if they had not, she knew this hall. A smell assailed her, at once familiar and overwhelming. It brought longing. Miaka closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Tokaki was staring at her.

"Are you –" he said.

"I'm fine," she told him, grimacing and brushing past. She felt cobwebs dust her face, clinging vainly, trying to hold her. _Damn spiders,_ she thought, as she swept the cobwebs out of her eyes. Then she went into the kitchen.

It was dark and empty, and there was a faint odor of rot on the air, as if some form of edible had, some weeks past, gone to waste. Everything was as she had left it – in mild disarray to be certain – but all her things were here, safe and familiar, as though bandits had not dared to touch it. She grimaced at the sight of the mess on the counters.

"Do you want some tea?" she said brightly. She was sure that, if nothing else, her tea leaves had lasted through her departure.

"Miaka," said Subaru from the doorway, her voice brisk but kind. "There's no need to put on a brave front for us."

"I'm not," said Miaka, turning away so that they couldn't see her eyes. "Please, come in. Tamahome always said how much he wanted you to visit."

She didn't realize how cold she was growing. It was an effort to be in this house, just as it was an effort to face Subaru now, with a smile on her face and a pot in her hand for the tea. How was she going to boil water for the tea, anyway? – there was no fire, only coals in the hearth; all the wood stacked so carefully behind the shed had no doubt been taken by the neighbors as the nights grew colder.

"Miaka," said Subaru again, as a tear splashed across the counter.

Miaka looked down at the liquid in surprise, watching as the dry wood absorbed it and darkened in color. She traced the outline that the tear had made in the soft grain of the wood. Another drop splashed by her hand, and her fingertip stilled.

"I'm sorry," she said, head still bent.

"Shall we go back?" said Subaru, taking Miaka's hand gently in her firm, wizened grasp.

Back to the palace.

But this was Miaka's home. Did Subaru not see? A life had been lived here, and the people at the palace had no part in it. Hotohori had no part in it, nor did Nuriko. This was all that was left that was _hers_. And Tamahome's.

"You should go back," said Miaka unsteadily. "I'm staying here. Just for awhile."

She looked in their eyes and she saw hesitation. Was it such a hard thing she was asking, a little peace? She wanted to remember what it was like when it was just her at home, waiting alone for Tamahome to return, cozy, warm, anticipating. There was so much she wanted to remember, and she couldn't do it with them around. "Please," she said.

"You may not be safe here," said Subaru. "If the demons…"

Oh, _them_...

"Let the girl have her time," said Tokaki. "The demons haven't even arrived at the capitol yet."

"But they will!" Subaru said fiercely. "You know they will, you know that it's only a matter of time, and we'll need to leave Eiyou _quickly_."

"We need to get that pompous swot's necklace before we can leave Eiyou, an' that ain't happening in an hour," said Tokaki.

Miaka pinched her lips together. All this talk was giving her a headache. Was that all the people around her ever did anymore: talk?

"The castle is two minutes from here," she said. "I think I can walk that distance safely; after all, I've managed to survive Nakago's company for a month, which is much more challenging than walking two blocks unaccompanied. Excuse me."

She knew she was being rude, but did not care; she brushed past them and up the stairs to the bedroom.

Below her, she could hear voices rise, Tokaki's urging, Subaru's in protest. Gradually, the voices faded, leaving only the slow creaks and groans of the house in their stead.

Her fingers traced the coverlet that had been hers and Tamahome's. On the pillow, a faint scent still lingered, the smell of pine and person. She smothered her face in the bedsheets, as much as she could manage and still breathe. If she buried herself in deep enough, if she allowed the scent to surround her, to fill her up and soothe her, perhaps she would open her eyes and discover that the past two months weren't real.

Her eyes closed, half-smothered in a cocoon of warm linen. Her lids fluttered and stilled. She breathed in, slowly and deeply. Time seemed, for a moment, to halt. In sleep, she could recapture what was lost. In sleep, the house was bright with the sound of Tamahome's voice; the past had not happened; and death was only a distant memory.

-v-

She was in a long, sloping hall with a fluted ceiling. The edges of the hall were dark and seemed to roil slightly at the corners of her eyes before settling into shapes she could see, dark pillars and statues with eyes she didn't like. They were indistinct and shadowy and would vanish when they reached the corners of her eyes. The hall was ephemeral, but her body felt solid.

She moved forward, past the roiling gargoyles and cruel tapestries. Ahead, the hall curved, and she could not see what was around the corner. Her feet stepped, as though guided by a volition that was not her own. Already, she half-suspected what was around the corner.

"Please, join me," said Tenkou.

He looked much as Miaka remembered him their last encounter in the _shin_. Long, dark robes accentuating a shockingly pale, well-defined face, eyes like black gems, glinting in the scant light of the hall. He sat upon a long, L-shaped divan, which looked surprisingly normal amidst the darker décor of the walls. A small table bore what looked like appetizers – tea-cakes and pastries and something that might have been chicken legs in some kind of teriyaki sauce.

Miaka was not impressed. "I was having a nice dream, you know," she said coldly.

"Yes, about your dead lover."

She had been dreaming about Tamahome – a warm, safe dream that she could barely remember now, because _he _had invaded it. She glared, and he smiled and gestured at the empty space on the divan. "Have a seat," he said.

"Thanks," she said, folding her arms. "But I think I prefer to stand here."

"It was not a request," Tenkou said pleasantly. He didn't move, but Miaka felt herself inexorably pulled toward the divan. Tensely, she sat herself at the spot farthest from Tenkou and clenched her hands.

For a long time, Tenkou didn't speak. His eyes rested on her – cold, intent, focused. She found that she could not look into his eyes long without feeling slightly dizzy. Instead, she looked at the appetizer table.

That turned out to be a mistake. She had eaten a late lunch, true, but only half of her stew had been salvageable after the unfortunate accident in the hallway, and it was almost dinner time. To distract herself from the powerful aromas wafting toward her, she tried to turn her gaze toward the wall tapestries – but the artist who designed them had had a powerfully malevolent mind, and the sight of men being mutilated in cruel and tortuous ways made her look away quickly –

"Where are we?" said Miaka, finally turning her gaze toward the only safe thing in the hall – her hands – and trying not to think about the delicious odors wafting toward her from the appetizer table. "Is this another illusion?"

"The barrier between worlds is weakening," Tenkou said. "It is weakest in dreams, and that is where I can reach you."

"Fantastic," said Miaka, who could anticipate a lot of sleepless nights from now on. "No wonder Nakago tries never to dream, if this is what he has to look forward to every time he shuts his eyes." She bit her lip. "Speaking of Nakago –"

He looked at her.

She clutched the nearest arm of the divan with white fingers. "You've cursed him with kudoku. I want you to release him from the spell. It's – it's a horrible thing to do to a person."

"I suppose you would know." And, before she could open her mouth to offer an angry retort, Tenkou smiled and nodded toward the appetizers on the table. "Eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry –"

"Eat," he said again. Just as she had been when Tenkou had forced her to sit down, Miaka found that she was helpless to resist the order. She growled with frustration as her arm reached forward to take a cake off the tray.

"Unfortunately," Tenkou said, examining his fingernails as Miaka helplessly downed half the tea-cake, "even if I did feel so inclined to remove the kudoku from Nakago – which I don't – the curse, once set, is very difficult to undo."

"I find that hard to believe," said Miaka, swallowing and putting down her cake. "It's your power that's fueling the curse in the first place!"

"I did not say it was impossible." Tenkou folded his hands. "I suppose I might be persuaded to remove the curse on your beloved seishi – for a price."

"Name it."

"You would have to relinquish your quest to summon the gods. You would have to come straight to me, without argument, without fight." He smiled at the expression of revulsion that crossed her face. "I did not think you would be pleased by the offer. Ultimately, however, when the kudoku corrupts dear Nakago completely, he _will_ bring you to me. The outcome of this fight will be exactly the same – whether or not you agree to my bargain."

"Why do you want me so much, anyway?" The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to consider how they sounded. "I mean," she added quickly, "if you wanted someone with power on your side, why did you alienate and try to kill Nakago? He's the most powerful of anyone in this world. And I'm just – I mean, I have power but nothing special –"

"Did Nakago tell you that?"

"No," she said, momentarily indignant. "It's just obvious. You don't have to be a genius to see that Nakago is powerful."

"Powerful, yes." Tenkou's eyes seemed to bore into hers. "But not the same way you are."

"I don't understand," she said, swallowing to moisten her mouth, which was suddenly dry.

"You – my dear little pigheaded miko of Suzaku – are special. Special by virtue of your _unique_ powers – special by your world of origin." His voice seemed to slow, growing warm and soft and soothing. "Did you ever wonder why you were able to summon the gods, Miaka? Only someone who is not from this world could possess that kind of power. And there are other kinds of powers as well that you have that others don't. You _are_ special, Miaka. We both are. And because of that, we will do great things together. Amazing and wonderful things..."

His words were alluring, as silvery sweet as the tunes from Amiboshi's flute, lulling her into complacency. She found she was almost nodding along with the picture he was building. Whole kingdoms built up from nothing, famines averted, palaces in the palette of a rainbow – all these would be possible. Even the dead might be returned to life with the combination of their powers – if they worked together, Tamahome might live again –

Miaka shook herself sharply. What was she _thinking_? She had fallen for _that_ trap once before, and it had proved an illusion. This was an illusion too, this beautiful picture of words that Tenkou was crafting so skillfully. For a moment she had almost allowed herself to be taken in by it!

"Stop," she whispered, and when his voice continued its soft cadence, she said it louder: "_Stop._"

He turned to stare at her with dark eyes, eyes that betrayed the briefest glimmer of irritation. Miaka drew in a deep breath. "_We_ will not be doing anything together," she told him sharply. "_I_ will be summoning the gods and making sure _you_ are sealed properly and Nakago is freed from the kudoku, while _you_ rot away in your depressing little kingdom –"

"Quiet," he said, and before she could recoil, he leaned forward and caught her by the chin. She tried to squirm but found she could not move, could not free herself from his inexorable grip. She sensed something behind his gaze, something old and powerful and terribly, terribly strong. And his _eyes_ – his eyes were the worst part of him – they seemed to be looking into her, reading her every thought, leaving her bare and exposed before him –

She clenched her fist into a ball until her nails dug painfully into her flesh. The pain brought her back to her senses a little – not enough to force herself to look away, but enough that she was able to think, to act. Tenkou had said she was powerful. She would show him the extent of her power, right now. She had no idea how her power would work in dreams – whether it would have any effect, if any, but she tried it anyway – calling up a ball of scarlet chi to her hands – releasing it –

It had the effect of distracting Tenkou. But she was too hurried, too agitated to aim it properly. Instead of Tenkou, her chi hit the table, which was instantly obliterated in a cloud of ash and smoke. All that remained of the meal were a few broken plates – and a charred mass of gray bone that had once been the legs of a chicken. It left a putrid, nasty odor, which seemed to percolate the room.

And Tenkou was laughing. He was not even looking at her, but he was laughing – a high, cruel laugh, a poisonous sound that made Miaka want to hide in a corner and shiver. He was not even trying to be alluring now. "A girl has many secrets," he said softly. "Don't you agree, Miaka?"

"I don't know what you mean." Miaka wondered what he had seen in her eyes – wondered if he had, after all, been reading her thoughts – The smell of burnt chicken bones was worsening, morphing into a different kind of smell – a smell that was horribly, hideously familiar. Miaka wanted to gag. She swallowed and pressed her sleeve to her mouth to try to filter the air she was breathing. Tenkou smiled, a cold and calculating smile.

"Strange little miko of Suzaku," he said. "You embrace your powers willingly and yet a part of you is, at the same time, disgusted. The smell of burnt flesh repulses you. You fear fire above all else – fire, which killed your beloved Tamahome – but no, that's not quite right, because _you_ killed him, didn't you, Miaka?

"Oh, you _are_ fun to toy with," he said, as she trembled, immobile and speechless with horror at his words. "I do enjoy our little visits, and I shall enjoy getting to know you better when you arrive here in a few weeks' time. You _will_ suffer for kicking me, however, on our last encounter." He tilted his head. "I have left a little surprise for you when you wake up. Consider it… a birthday gift."

"But it's not my birthday," said Miaka, momentarily nonplussed.

"It has been one year precisely since the miko of Suzaku discovered the Shijintenchisho." His eyes glittered. "The gods remember, Miaka Yuuki."

"But you're not a god!" she shouted toward him, even as she felt herself falling, felt herself starting into wakefulness. His laughter followed her out.

Her face was still buried in the pillow. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked, lifting her head off the bed. Outside, the light was almost fading; she could see shards of evening sunlight penetrating the gaps in the boards that were hammered across the second-floor windows.

Nothing was wrong. Why did she think there was something wrong? Surely Tenkou was only toying with her.

And then, Miaka smelled fire.

-v-

**Author's note:** A shorter chapter this time, thank goodness. I don't think I like it very much, and I'm not really sure the ending made sense, but I'm waaay too sleepy to care right now. Next chapter will hopefully be more exciting. Mostly because there is fire involved. –Rubs hands together in pyromaniac-esque glee- Oh, and Nakago. Who is cooler than fire, of course.

I'd like to thank _megumisakura, honey, Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan, Helena, tohru78, Desert Renaissance, Nile1283, and 1stfairchild_ for your reviews and your phenomenal response to the last chapter! ^_^ THANK YOU! I would say more but I literally think I am going to fall asleep on my computer if I don't get to bed right now. Bleh.

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. Why does Nakago want Miaka to tag along even after everything is over? If he feels the need to punish her, I doubt he would use a method that guarantees his misery as well. Do I see the first signs of a possible romance?**

Ostensible reason: Miaka will be useful to Nakago's plan of world domination (or at least Kutou domination) because she will lend an air of credibility to his reign as Emperor. 1) She is a priestess, with all the positive connotations that that entails (i.e. the people will love her and therefore love Nakago); 2) since she's practically family with Hotohori, having her in Kutou will help forge an alliance (however unwilling) with Hong-Nan. Sort of the equivalent of a marriage arrangement between the ruling heads of Hong-Nan and Kutou without the marriage.

Those are all Nakago's rationalizations, at least. As for the ACTUAL reason… who knows?

**2. Nakago would have made a frighteningly good lawyer in Miaka's world.**

Heeheehee. I agree. FRIGHTENINGLY good.

**3. Tokaki called Nakago a brat! About time someone flaunted their superiority over him!**

Tokaki is how old? 109? I think, of anybody in the Shiujintenchisho, he can get away with calling Nakago a brat. ^_^

**4. Will Nakago and Miaka kiss in this story?**

Yes. They will. (Because this is ultimately a romance fic, and sadly (well, maybe sadly) I don't anticipate having the time to write a sequel).

**5. When will we know the outcome of the "Sadao problem"?**

In the next chapter.

**6. I can't wait to see Tasuki's reaction!**

Heh heh…

**7. I'm glad Nuriko is back to her old self!**

Me too! -squeals and hugs Nuriko-

**8. Will the rest of the Suzaku warriors show up? **

Yes. In Part 4… which is exactly 2 chapters away.

**9. If all four gods have to a have a warrior present during the summing who will be the warrior of Genbu?**

Someone…

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

1. Did the part of the chapter with Tenkou in it make sense?

2. Why is my bed so far away from where I'm currently sitting?


	41. Disturbia

…

**XLI**

** Disturbia**

…

Lord Sadao's rooms were abundantly guarded but poorly defended. His men watched uneasily as Nakago approached, and only two offered physical resistance, which Nakago dealt with quickly and dispassionately. After that, the remaining men were quick to step aside. The lord of the north would have done better to employ only two or three men who could fight, Nakago thought, instead of the ten cowards who drew back in fear at the sight of his chi. But then, a weak master attracted weak servants – and Sadao was a weak man – a coward so blinded by his own convictions that he turned a blind eye to an obvious threat.

The Emperor of Hokkan turned toward Nakago as he entered, annoyance turning to shock and then to fear. Nakago immobilized him and sent him backward, pinning him to the wall with an almost effortless expense of power.

"Do you believe in gods now?" he asked lazily, allowing _kokoro_ to blaze to life on his forehead. It was satisfying to watch the man whiten, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tried to swallow – satisfying to watch the fool whimper and stammer with terror, tears leaking from his eyes. It took the edge off some of the ill temper that had been following Nakago since the early afternoon, when he had discovered the miko in possession of the _shin_. He took pleasure in wrapping his chi like a whip about the other man's neck, until Lord Sadao gasped for air.

"Do not attempt to pursue me," he said, when he had safely retrieved the necklace, whose location Lord Sadao was only too eager to give. "Attempt to retrieve this little treasure of yours, and your life _will_ be forfeit. Do you understand me, Lord Sadao?"

Necklace safely in his grasp, Nakago strode out of the room. The man would no doubt be a puddle of fear for two hours – after the fool awoke from the fainting spell induced by Nakago's parting words. But Lord Sadao was a willfully ignorant man. He would eventually convince himself that he had been on the receiving end of some kind of trickery and demand retribution – possibly Nakago's own life, or the miko's. By then, Nakago planned to be long gone.

He strode from the room, ignoring the two fallen men who were groaning their way into consciousness. He had barely turned the corner past the guest rooms when he heard the whisper of fabric brushing on fabric from somewhere close by and felt a familiar _chi_ that belonged to a Suzaku seishi –

"Show yourself, Lord Saihitei," he said calmly. "It is unbecoming to hide behind corners in one's own palace."

The Emperor stepped out from behind the draping tapestry that fell from ceiling to floor. Hands clasped before him, he fell into step with Nakago, calm as though he'd not even heard Nakago's taunt.

"You were successful, then?" said Saihitei.

"I don't know what you mean," said Nakago blandly.

"Of course not," the Emperor sighed. His eyes drifted toward the window; Nakago followed his gaze. It was almost evening, but the darkening sky had more to do with the towering wall of clouds than with the approaching sunset. If a thousand crows had suddenly taken the urge to swarm across the sun, they could not have blotted out the light much better than the clouds were currently doing.

"I must express my disapproval, because I am obligated to do so," Lord Saihitei said lightly, "although of course it was the only sensible course of action. I merely wonder how much effort my ambassadors would be put to in the coming weeks to soothe the inevitable furor effected by the theft of Lord Sadao's prized possession."

"Lord Saihitei," said Nakago coolly, turning to face him. "It would not surprise me if, in the coming weeks, the entire question of any such theft, and your perceived culpability for it, becomes entirely immaterial."

"Yes," the Emperor sighed, "but it offers some small reassurance to pretend that life might go on after the battle."

A pause followed this statement, a very pregnant one that seemed to hang in the air like a bird of prey – like the clouds which were presently trying to block out the sunlight. The Saihitei of the Shijintenchisho had not lived on after the last battle, of course; had not even survived long enough to see his son's birth. Nakago knew this. He had been responsible for the sword thrust which ended the Emperor's life, had he not?

Although the Emperor stared straight ahead, he seemed to be studying the room out of the corner of his eye. In another man, at another time, such a gesture may have seemed innocuous; Nakago sensed, however, that the Emperor was concealing mild embarrassment. The realization surprised Nakago, but made him no less wary. Had the Emperor truly not meant to bring up a matter which was potentially unpleasant – or was he testing Nakago for his reaction? Saihitei was weak and over-emotional, but for a Suzaku warrior he possessed remarkable intelligence (though, considering that Nakago's point of reference was the miko's former husband, this may not have been too great a shock).

"Your fall at the previous battle brought me little joy, Saihitei," he said finally. "I would hope that in this particular instance, history would not repeat itself."

Something was bothering him, something entirely different from the conversation at hand – a faint sense of wrongness at the back of his mind. It irked him that he did not know the nature of its origin. Nakago frowned, trying to pinpoint the source of the wrongness, but it flitted away from him, elusive as a hummingbird.

"It was a great pity," said Saheitei, sounding for a moment much older and wiser than his years, "that you were not born in Hong-Nan."

Nakago's eyes narrowed; had he any less control over his features, an eyebrow might have given the barest hint of a twitch. Lord Saihitei actually appeared serious, which was … disconcerting. Briefly, Nakago wondered if Emperor's wife might not be the only deranged Suzaku seishi in residence at the palace.

"I'm afraid I do not share your view, Lord Saihitei," he said. "Suzaku warriors are weak; their sentimentality makes them soft and overly trusting."

"This is why Taitsukun wishes a warrior of each of the beast-gods to go with Miaka," said the Emperor calmly. "When the time comes, when it is necessary, you will do what needs to be done."

For a moment, the words sounded as though they were coming from a distance, not from Saihitei's own lips. It was as if they rose up from some hidden source in the earth or from the sky above. Nakago's eyes narrowed further. He would not permit himself to feel unsettled twice in one conversation – but he could not deny that the words sounded almost foreboding – like a prophecy – or a promise.

The moment faded. Lord Saihitei said, "How long do you intend to stay at the palace?"

"The miko and I will be departing within the hour."

At the thought of the miko, the nagging sensation, and the reason behind it, clicked into place in Nakago's mind. The familiar red chi signature was nowhere nearby – in fact, it had not been anywhere close for over an hour. He cast outward, spreading his net to the limits of the palace walls, and quickly concluded that the miko was not on the palace grounds.

"I suppose it would not do to have the thief of Lord Sadao's necklace remain on the premises," the Emperor said, apparently oblivious to his realization. "The other seishi will be accompanying you?"

"Perhaps," Nakago said coldly. "Where is the miko?"

"I can have a guard fetch her from her rooms," said Saihitei.

"She's not in her rooms."

"She's not – ?"

"She is out," said the decidedly unhelpful voice of Tokaki. The old man's brown eyes glinted insolently as he pulled the pipe from his mouth. "The girl needed some time to herself for a change. Time to get over her grief, as it were. Not like she has that much time, amongst all you lot."

Subaru smacked his arm. "You're being very rude," she said. "Lord Saihitei, N – Lord Nakago, Miaka is at her own house, the one she used to share with Tamahome. We asked her to bring us there for a visit, but she wanted to stay a little –"

"What is the street?" Nakago said curtly.

"It is in the Market District," the Emperor said, "But I have never been there so I have no specifics."

"The street adjacent to the market," said Subaru, "covered in rose bushes. I can't remember what it's called. Tokaki, can you –"

Nakago did not wait to hear whether Tokaki could furnish a name. Already, he was sweeping past them and making for the palace exit.

He could feel her now, just barely, on the edges of his senses. What he saw did not reassure him. Panic suffused her chi, panic mixed with indignation and horror and helplessness. The sensation spurred him onward. He hurried, cutting a swath in the thronging townspeople, who knew better than to get in his way.

A haze of ash suffused the air, giving it the odor of charred lumber. Nearby, the townspeople were just starting to show the first signs of agitation. They huddled together, or shifted nervously on the balls of their feet as he drew close. A rush of fire brigadiers hurried down a long avenue; Nakago followed them. Fire was in the air, on the breeze and on peoples' lips, a word that spread like an inferno itself. Distantly, a bell tolled alarm, its sharp cry growing in volume as Nakago made his way through the Imperial District.

He had studied maps of the city twice before, once while plotting infiltration of the Hong-Nan, and again while planning its conquest. He knew the city outline; its division into walled-off districts simplified navigation considerably. He was in the Imperial District now, the region within the inner-most wall, nearest the palace. The Market District was ahead of him, one wall outside the Imperial sector. The source of the fire lay within the Market District. The road Nakago followed made a straight path toward the beacon of smoke – and toward the miko.

The location of the fire's epicenter mapped perfectly to the miko's chi signature.

Lips set in a thin line, eyes cold, Nakago moved forward. If the townspeople had not had sufficient sense to let him pass, the cerulean glow mark that flashed on his forehead might have helped to persuade them.

-v-

If the fire touched her skin, Miaka could not feel it. She was in a nightmare, and the world seemed to be moving slowly to accommodate it.

The irony of the situation – that Suzaku's miko was powerless to stop her own house from vanishing in a fiery inferno – was entirely lost on Miaka. All of her passionate attempts to stop the fire had come to nothing. It blazed throughout the house, insinuated itself into corners like a crawling vine, filled the air with ash, which flew into Miaka's face and clung to her hair and nose and mouth. There had been no time to fetch water from the well, so Miaka had tried to beat out the flame with chair cushions. But it had been a dry month, and the boards caught fire quickly. As soon as she had put out one flame, ten more sprang up around her.

So now Miaka tried to salvage what she could, stumbling under the weight of clothes and books and cooking equipment. Desperation and fury made her movements swift and jerky. She ran from one corner of the house to the other, grabbing possessions at random. There were so many things to be saved. She flung herself through the front door, dropped her armful to the ground, and bolted back inside the house.

Running was becoming more and more of a struggle. She pushed her way through the kitchen toward the bedroom. A piece of the ceiling crashed to the ground in a shower of sparks near her leg, and her throat erupted into coughing. _Shield,_ she thought dimly. It helped a little, but she could still smell the smoke.

Clothes, a pillow. The shirts that had been Tamahome's, the tea set he had bought her as a present, two weeks before his death. She could not leave any of these. And still there was more to be salvaged. With a slight sob of panic, Miaka turned and shot toward the door. She had to crane her head to see over the mountain of clothes and the pillow and the tea set. She tripped on the bottom step, fell forward and hit her chin against the floorboards. Stars were in front of her eyes, and she knew, from the burning sensation on her arm, that her shield was gone. The possessions she had been holding were scattered across the ground. Before her, the tea set lay in pieces.

Miaka's forehead dropped to the floor. Her vision was beginning to swim. Her eyes closed for a moment, and an image seemed to form at the back of her eyelids.

"Tamahome." She tried to say his name, but all that came out was a raspy sort of cough.

_Get up, Miaka. You have to get up._

But the door was too far away, she thought hazily; she was only at the bottom of the staircase. She couldn't see; she couldn't move – the heat of the fire was scorching her skin.

_Just a few steps, Miaka. A few steps, that's all – _

Miaka opened her eyes. A hand reaching toward her, Tamahome's hand – _No,_ thought Miaka,_ you're dead, you're an illusion, you must be, you're not _real – but somehow the hand _was_ real, real and warm and vibrant, and he pulled her up, and Miaka stood, trembling – afraid to look into his face, afraid of what she would find –

_Come towards me – this way –_

She looked up finally, but Tamahome's back was toward her now, hazy and ephemeral amidst the swirling ash; he was walking away from her as though he expected her to follow – and she still hadn't seen his face yet. "Wait!" she said.

_I'm right here, Miaka._

_Don't walk so fast,_ she thought. _I can barely see you._ But she didn't have breath left to utter the words. Time was doing strange things to her. Every second felt like hours. Distantly, she registered a beam collapsing in a shower of sparks, inches from her foot, saw the cloud of ash and dust rise up in the wake of its fall. She gasped and choked – it was impossible to breathe – she could not do this, but _You're almost there_ said Tamahome. Miaka still couldn't see his face – in fact, she could barely see any of him, now – but she heard him murmur, _You're doing great, just a little bit further; here we go, one more step –_

And then, abruptly, a dark shape loomed out of the haze. In the second it took for her to realize this shape was a person and not the kitchen stove, Miaka felt herself seized roughly by the arm and dragged forward. She stumbled, eyes watering, trying with all her might to make out the dark shape in front of her.

"Tamahome?" she said faintly.

"Move," said a cold voice that was certainly not Tamahome's.

Blindly she obeyed. They cleared the doorway. With the first breath of fresh air, Miaka felt her head clear a little. This was not a good thing. The unnatural numbness that had been with her since Tamahome's appearance was instantly replaced with terror. Someone was slapping the sleeve of her dress, which was flaming. Miaka coughed and tried to pull away, struggling against her rescuer's inexorable grip.

"Miko," said Nakago.

At the sound of his voice, her struggles lessened, though she continued to try to pull away. She felt herself pushed onto the ground and rolled, backward and forward a couple times, until she felt slightly dizzy. A large hole marked the space where her intact sleeve had once been, but she was not badly burned.

She felt a hand half-helping, half-pulling her up. She stood and stared at the flaming house, panic rising to the surface. "I have to go back inside!" she rasped.

Nakago's grip on her shoulder was painful. At any other time, the glare in his eyes might have caused her to fall silent. Now its effect was muted by her present horror.

"I have to go back inside!" she repeated. "Tamahome's in there!"

"Tamahome."

"I saw him – back there, I –"

"Tamahome is dead."

"But –"

She drew in a breath, which caught in her lungs and morphed into a rasping, shuddering cough. Had it been no more than an image her mind had conjured up, induced by the poisonous haze of ash and dust? Miaka stared back into the doorway from which Nakago had dragged her, feeling the tears start in her eyes. The house was blazing now, flames pouring from every window, a raging inferno that threatened the neighboring houses. Any moment now, the roof would cave in – and then, all would really be lost – everything she had tried to build with Tamahome would be irrevocably destroyed forever –

Panic rose again. _No!_ Miaka thought desperately. _I can't let it happen! _She tried to elbow Nakago in the stomach so that he would release his relentless grip on her shoulder. When that failed, she lashed out at him with her foot. "Let go of me!" Miaka shrieked. "The house is on fire – _I have to go back!_"

He regarded the charred shirt that still dangled from her hand, many sizes too big for her. "Let you go back inside," he sneered, "so that you will risk your life for another precious _memento_?"

"It's all I have _left_," she screamed, turning on him, power lashing toward him like a whip. "You can't stop me, you heartless _bastard!_"

She was losing control. Her powers flared wildly around her; her face was wet, streaked with tears and ash and charcoal, and she felt like everything inside her was shattering, just like the tea set that lay in pieces at the bottom of the stairs. She _wanted_ to shatter, to smash into a million glittering fragments so that she would never have to feel again. She turned on Nakago, twisting, flailing, scratching, clawing. She was too far gone to notice Nakago shift position, too incensed to feel the fingers that found the nerve at the back of her neck. Blackness clouded her vision, and she slumped, unconscious, to the ground.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Heh heh heh… time for a little tough love from Nakago.

THE GOOD NEWS: I AM ALMOST DONE WITH PART 3. The next chapter will be the last chapter of Part 3, and then we'll move on to Part 4. And everything will be lovely. (Well no it won't, because I still have to write the end of Part 4. But hopefully that will happen soon, -guilty look-).

Something amusing I just noticed about Part 3 is that it all takes place within the span of 4 days. Seriously. I went back and counted. I suppose this is good news for Nakago, because it means he still has ten or so days left to live! (… in theory…) But, on the downside, it means that I somehow managed to devote 100 pages of writing to… 4 days in the life of Miaka. Hopefully this temporal expansion doesn't continue. Although I suppose it might be cool to someday write a book where 100 pages was devoted to a single hour.

Anyway, thanks to _Nile1283, Desert Renaissance, tohru78, Helena, _and _honey _for your reviews of the last chapter! Hopefully I've answered all of your questions below.

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. Will Miaka be okay?**

Depends on your definition of "okay"! ^_^ She survived physically, at least, which is a plus!

**2. Though I love your updating schedule, it really makes me wonder if you're getting enough sleep as well…**

More than I got in college… probably…

**3. Is Miaka picking up on Nakago's habits of poker faced humor now?**

She's been around him so much lately, how could she not? ~_^

**4. Out of curiosity, do you listen to any music when you write your story?**

Hehh… sometimes. My musical tastes have changed drastically over the years, and I tend to dabble in this or that. I went from a JPop phase to a regular pop phase and am now in what might be considered a symphonic metal phase. I guess when I'm writing, I tend to like fairly fast-paced/epic/powerful songs with interesting lyrics (I think I played 'Escapist' by Nightwish upwards of 20 times in one day once, while I was writing part 3). Soundtrack music is also great! But it really varies. I was raised on classical music (my grandparents were classical musicians) and I didn't have much exposure to anything else until I got to college. So my musical tastes are kind of eclectic.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Was the pace of this chapter ok? I think some of the transitions might have been a little rough…

2. What sorts of music do you guys listen to when you write?

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase.


	42. Like the darkness is light

…

**XLII **

**Like the darkness is light**

…

Miaka awoke in near-darkness to an unfamiliar bed. The sheets felt scratchy and rough against her soot-streaked skin. Her knees and chest felt bruised, and her throat was scratchy and clotted with phlegm. Miaka coughed a few times to clear it.

A single candle burned at a desk in the opposite corner of the room. Nakago sat at the desk, staring out through the window and into the night.

"Nakago?" she said blankly. She coughed again to dispel more phlegm and swallowed. "What's going on? Are we at the palace?"

His eyes did not leave the window as he replied:

"The palace is not safe now. We are at an inn in Market District, two blocks from your former home."

_Former…?_

Miaka sat up, so quickly that her head screamed in protest. "What happened to my house?" she demanded. "Tell me!"

One minute passed, and then another, but Nakago said nothing, simply stared out the window in grim, dispassionate silence. Miaka knew exactly what his silence meant, knew that there was only one thing it _could_ mean. She wanted to cry, to scream. But the wealth of emotion that she had displayed earlier that day seemed to have deserted her, leaving her capable only of heaving a single, desolate sob. A deep hollowness filled her. She lay back against the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt she had betrayed Tamahome in some way, as though he had trusted her to protect their house after he was gone, and she had failed him, even in this simple duty. She was conscious of the fact that she couldn't have stopped the fire, and that burning to death would not have served any reasonable purpose. It would not have brought Tamahome back to life and would certainly have condemned a lot of innocent people – people depending on her – to a very tragic fate. But that did not make the pressure on her heart any easier to bear. Miaka pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. Her skin smelled of soot and ash and fire. She remembered the vision of Tamahome she had seen in the house. Had it been only a vision? She knew now it couldn't have been real.

"You are bruised, but not burned," said Nakago, as though this was something he thought she would care about. "The places where the fire touched you have already healed."

For a long time she said nothing. It was so easy to just lie here, eyes closed, overcome by a cold, listless langour. She heard a shifting from across the room, sensed Nakago's growing irritation. Finally, she murmured: "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two hours."

His words fell upon her ears slowly, seemed to sink into her brain as though carried from her ears to her neural circuits by liquid molasses. She felt horribly, numbly empty. "Did you save _anything_?" she asked.

"Only what you carried out with you. We may be forced to move quickly in the coming weeks and that means traveling lightly. If you were expecting to carry an entire array of furniture, I would encourage you to rethink your plans."

"You don't have to be such a bastard," Miaka said, opening her eyes again. Despite her current despair, she felt a curl of anger flaring, unguarded, to the surface. "We could have left the things at the palace. We'll have to go to the palace anyway, to fetch my things. I'm sure that Hotohori–"

"You will not be returning to the palace before our departure," said Nakago.

"Why?" said Miaka. "Why isn't it safe anymore?"

"While you were asleep, Lord Sahitei sent a messenger to inform me that our faces cannot be seen in the palace any longer. Lord Sadao desires vengeance for the recent theft of the necklace of Hokkan. Your recent interactions have led him to suspect your involvement in its disappearance, and your disappearance this afternoon will appear particularly incriminating to him."

"The necklace was _stolen_?" she repeated, blinking and turning to face him. "But we _need_ the necklace. We have to find it."

Nakago shot her a look that was part disdain and part cold humor, and raised his right hand. Something glittered in his palm, something that looked strangely like emeralds.

"Oh," Miaka said. "Of course you took it."

She could not help but recall the cold, focused smile that had crossed Nakago's visage at the end of their meeting that afternoon. So he _had_ gone after Lord Sadao, after all. Had Subaru known when she put out a hand to stop Miaka's following him? Miaka was sure that she had.

Even as these thoughts flitted through her mind, Nakago was saying:

"The Emperor of Hokkan would never have handed it over of his own volition. Taking the jewel forcibly was the most expedient – the _only _– course of action."

"I see." She tried not to imagine what was unsaid behind Nakago's words, but as with most empty spaces, imagination becomes fuller for the void left in one's knowledge, and she could not help but wonder what he had done to Sadao. That Lord Sadao remained alive enough to desire vengeance was not reassuring; there were plenty of ways to cripple a man and still leave him alive; and she was quite sure Nakago was intimately familiar with a good number of these methods. She should probably pity the noble lord – _anyone who has received punishment at Nakago's hands probably deserved some form of pity_, she thought. But she still felt quite pitilessly blank. Was this, she wondered, how Nakago felt after Taria died?

She turned back Nakago. She could feel her focus shifting slowly, away from the house, back to their mission. _Just focus on what I have to do – _that was what she needed. Focus. "So we have everything now?" she said. "Everything we need to summon the gods?"

"Except for the seishi themselves," said Nakago. He was not even looking at her, but staring out the window, as though her presence bored him.

Right. Because reviving a dead seishi of Genbu in order to ensure adequate representation of each god was going to be a walk in the park. Miaka felt a wave of despair wash over her, mingling unexpectedly with anger at Nakago – Nakago, who said the words so calmly, whose expression was bordering on apathetic.

Perhaps if Miaka had been less tired, she would have recognized his expression as a sort of studied boredom, which occasionally gave way to a sharp look or piercing interest. He often carried himself this way: attentiveness feigning apathy. In truth, Nakago did care very much about locating the Genbu seishi in question. He _had_ spared a thought – a couple thoughts, actually – as to the problem of the missing Genbu seishi – but only peripherally, enough to conclude that an answer – and a seishi – would doubtless step forward in time. Taiitsukun _needed_ them to succeed in this mission. She would not have set them on a quest that death had rendered physically impossible to achieve.

That said, the prospect of traveling to Hokkan with the other 'chosen' to seek out the missing seishi of Genbu appealed to him very little – and, gods forbid if the bandit should be selected to represent Suzaku's values of nauseating heroism. But the thought of his own death by slow poisoning kept him in check. Nakago had died in one universe; he had already made up his mind not to die in another.

Sahitei's messenger had said that the ship toward Hokkan would not be ready until tomorrow morning. Nakago knew that it was no use chafing at the delay; it was the rare captain who would depart under cover of darkness, and he and the miko could wait until morning. When dawn arrived, they would be joined by the seishi who were currently at the palace, and they would make their way down to the harbor.

Nonetheless, Nakago felt disquieted – but it was hard to pin down the source of his unease. He did not suspect Lord Sahitei of duplicity, and he would have set off for the palace at once if he had. But depending on others – particularly others who had proven resistant to manipulation – was not something that came naturally to Nakago. He preferred those who slipped easily under his control, who were predictable – like Soi – or whose weaknesses made them easy to manipulate, like Yui or Tasuki or even Tamahome. The introduction of too many autonomous variables was not a thing Nakago welcomed into his plans as a matter of course.

Ironic, then, that his recent circumstances had forced him to depend on a miko whose behavior was so erratic, so unpredictable, at times so entirely outside his control that their interactions had actually been a challenge for him. It had rankled him, his inability to predict her behavior – but it had also made him acutely aware of her, at first y necessity, and later – when he could attribute more sense to her actions – by habit. He could not remember anyone ever dominating his thoughts quite so frequently as the priestess of Suzaku had in the past two weeks – possibly the Emperor of Kutou, when Nakago had planned out his revenge –

Gradually, her unpredictability and her unwillingness to be cowed had captured his interest, until he found himself grudgingly coming to terms with – even respecting – the Suzaku no Miko. Though at the moment, she looked more like a street waif than a miko demanding of his respect – cheeks grubby and soot-streaked, a trail of dried tears making tracks down her cheeks. She was speaking, talking in soft, musing tones, in a voice that was slightly husky from her earlier exposure to smoke.

"There's something I don't understand."

"I am sure that there are many things you don't understand," Nakago said, with a sardonic lilt to his voice. He still felt a faint, residual irritation about the necessity of depending upon Lord Saihitei, and this might have caused his words to emerge a touch colder than he had intended. "Pray tell; which one in particular is troubling you this evening?"

Miaka started. She had been musing, as one almost lost in her own thoughts, and Nakago's sudden interruption brought her back to the present like a dash of cold water flung straight to the face. Now, she offered Nakago one of her most scourging glares. She felt safe, shielded from Nakago's Sardonic Eyebrow in a pleasant, simmering cocoon of her own rage. In truth, her anger was a welcome relief, freeing her from thoughts about her demolished house, and the things she had not managed to save, and the memory of that vision of Tamahome that had appeared just in the nick of time to save her.

"Just this," she snapped, thinking of her horrible confusion from earlier, when he had stepped forward during the emperors' council and said what he had to say. "Why do you want to be Emperor of Kutou so badly?"

"My dear miko," he said, and he offered her a smile, knowing that it would unnerve her, "if I cannot be a god, at least allow me the earthly pleasures of power, wealth, and women."

She felt a dull, slow flush color her cheek at this last word. That flush slowly sank away to leave only soot and white skin as she remembered just _who_ was supposed to accompany Nakago to Kutou after they summoned the gods. He could not mean her. He had better not mean her.

Nakago watched the colors play across his miko's face for a moment. At another time, her reaction would have amused him, but Nakago was unusually tired, with a faint headache that had been building since he had dragged the miko from her ruined home earlier. Smoke and fire disagreed with him.

He leaned back against the wall. Perhaps if he closed his eyes and ignored her, she would go back to sleep.

Miaka folded her arms. He could ignore her all she wanted, but she was not going to let him free quite so easily. She opened her mouth and – as usual – gave barely a thought to the words that spilled out:

"To be an emperor, you need to be, well, alive. Why don't you wait until Tenkou's dead to pursue your love of power? Then – by all means – feel free to enjoy your 'earthly pleasures' to your heart's content."

The words came out sounding more callous than she had intended. The reminder of his imminent death seemed to hang between them with all the gravity of a hangman's noose. Miaka wondered if she had spoken too directly. She had not wanted to seem callous. She just wanted to understand.

"To be emperor also requires one to take advantage of situations as they are presented," said Nakago, opening both eyes again.

He liked plans and liked planning for the future, and he had been planning that meeting for so long; why _not_ use it to his advantage as he had formerly intended? The knowledge of the slow poisoning of his body had not changed that. And then, in combination with the knowledge of his own demise, there came a kind of fatalistic cool humor that had accompanied the entire exchange. The cringing from the other members of the assembled seemed so ironic, so amusing, against the backdrop of his poisoning with the kudoku. They were like bees buzzing confusedly over a disturbed hive – pitiful – what did they know of life, of death, of anything for that matter? There was so much he knew that they did not know, and he could use this to his advantage. It was like playing chess with minds, and Nakago was brilliant at it.

Miaka watched a slight amusement pass again across his features. She remembered what Subaru had said to her, after the meeting, about Nakago getting a kick out of toying with their heads. Disgust filled her.

"I think," she almost flung at him, "that it amused you to watch everyone flinch with horror as you asked for allegiance today. I think you did it all because you _liked_ the chaos that resulted from everything you said."

A small, ironic smile continued to play around the corner of his mouth. Miaka could not decide if it was amused or condescending or bitter. "Do my reasons matter, miko?" he said. "I am, as you have so generously pointed out, a dead man."

Miaka stared at him for a moment; she felt faintly nauseous. She did not know if it was her own words that were making her feel slightly sick, or his. She threw the covers off herself and stood up, disregarding the pain that momentarily flooded her body.

"Since it seems like we'll be staying at this inn for awhile, I'm going to dinner," she said. "I can – um – bring you something."

His eyes met hers, and the intensity of his gaze caused a slight shiver to run up her spine.

"I ate while you slept," he said.

"Oh," she said, still standing in place like an idiot. "All right."

He turned back to the window. It was as though she had been released from some sort of hold; Miaka blinked and moved her lips for a moment. Then she spun on her heel and left the room as fast as she could.

-v-

Two hours later, Miaka was almost regretting leaving the bedroom. She was feeling a little odd, and the room seemed to be dipping strangely.

The odd, dipping quality of the room might have been due to the large quantity of sake that she had imbibed over the course of her meal. The sake had not been her idea, but the innkeeper's, who – despite being a man of the best of intentions – was a bit overfond of the bottle. Upon seeing Miaka's pale face and sad eyes, he had remarked on how she seemed a bit down today, and would she like to drown her sorrows?

She had only drunk sparingly in the past, certainly not in great quantities, and she did not even really like wine. To her untrained palate, it tasted a little like mouthwash, and really, there were better things she could be filling her stomach with, like stew and pie and braised chicken.

But, now that she had no insufferable bastard to distract her, the memory of the inferno overtaking her house was returning to her with a vengeance. With it came earlier memories, memories of Tamahome, memories of the fire that had taken his life – _they would drive her mad, these memories!_

"I guess I'll drink some," she had mumbled, as she lifted the glass placed before her, turning desolate eyes upon the innkeeper. She knew him a little; he had been a friend of Tamahome's, which automatically made him all right – and she clasped his hand tremblingly. "A few sips couldn't hurt, right?"

"You'll need a glass or three if you want to forget what's troubling you," he had said, looking at her with pity then. She hated his pity.

She downed the first glass, choking on the taste, which she found awful. By the third or fourth tumbler, she was feeling quite warm in the region of her cheeks, and a little dizzy.

The sake dulled her senses, dulled the awful knowledge that all she and Tamahome had worked so hard to build was gone, dulled her secret, guilty fear that she might have been able to actually salvage more than she had. Really, she _ought_ not to feel so dreadful. At the end of it all, the things that were lost today were only material possessions – she still had the memories – memories of Tamahome locked away in her heart. Tenkou could never touch those. She took another fortifying sip of sake.

But what if the memories should begin to fade, as she worried they were already starting to? She had seen Tamahome's ghost today, but she had never seen his face; he had melted away from her before he had turned around so she could see it. Now she wondered if she was forgetting the details of what he looked like. She tried to recall his face, but it seemed somehow watery and indistinct in her mind. Or perhaps that was because her eyes were now misting with tears – though that ought not make a difference – she still ought to be able to remember –

More sake would help. Miaka brought the cup to her lips and found it was almost empty. She reached for the bottle to pour a fifth glass –

– except something odd was happening to the bottle relative to her hand. It seemed to be growing oddly lighter – and there were hands wrapped around it that were not hers. Miaka squinted and realized that someone must be reaching around her to take away the bottle. The hands were a man's hands, and they were too large to be the innkeeper's.

"You have had quite enough. Any more and you will be sick within the hour, and that is not something I relish dealing with this evening."

"Ayuru?" she mumbled, releasing her grip on the bottle and turning to blink at the man in front of her.

Nakago smiled thinly, taking the seat across from her. "My dear Suzaku no miko, the extent of your foolishness never ceases to astound me."

"I'm not your dear anything," she said – or tried to say – she seemed to be having difficulty with words at the moment. "Anything," she said again. She wanted to say more, but it was hard to think of a witty comeback right now, so she contented herself with staring across the table at him sadly.

He stared back with a cynical smile and then poured himself a glass with the bottle he had just confiscated. For a long time, neither one spoke at all. Miaka's eyes traveled up from her cup to Nakago's face. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek to splash on the table. All she really wanted was to have a good cry right now, and here _he_ was, intruding on her life as usual. Taking her sake. Well, he would just have to deal with the consequences of intruding into her life unwanted.

Abruptly, she stood up and stepped forward, stopping until she was just in front of him.

"Hold me," said Miaka.

He stopped in the act of pouring and set the bottle deliberately upright. For a second he studied her, unspeaking, as if something in her manner had actually unnerved him. This impression vanished quickly. A cold smile crossed his lips.

"You do not really wish for me to hold you," he said. "You only desire to combine your current state of inebriation with physical contact in order to forget that the house you shared with the fool Suzaku seishi is in ruin."

She pondered this for a moment, her eyes dull. What he said seemed plausible, all except for the part about her being drunk. _Was_ she really drunk? She supposed that might explain why the room was spinning, but she knew she had not drunk the same amount as Tasuki usually drank when he got drunk. But she was smaller than Tasuki, and she remembered vaguely (perhaps from those silly health ed classes they force you to take in school) that smaller people need to drink less to get drunk. So maybe she was drunk. Did it matter?

"Nakago?" she said.

"I have not left."

"Does this mean you're going to hold me –" She tilted her head slightly, and the room tilted obligingly with her "– or not?"

He raised an eyebrow, all cold scorn.

"Fine," she said, and took another gulp, slamming her glass down toward the table, trying not to let him see her face. In the morning she would be burning red with humiliation, but now she was tired, and everything seemed to matter about as much as the pain the toe she had just stubbed against the table-leg. Her chin jerked out in a motion that was stubborn, and her eyes flashed cold anger that hid a sadness too vast to be acknowledged. Her husband was dead, and she was drunk, the cup was shattering on the floor because she had missed the table, and all she could think to say (murmured in pained tones that seemed to waver with the blurring of her vision) was, "I d-don't like you either."

She fell, and he pulled her back to her feet. His grip on her was bruising, not gentle, as if in mockery of the embrace she had asked for, and he met her eyes with coldness.

"You are pathetic, miko."

"I know that," she said, yanking her arm out of his grasp and enunciating slowly and precisely so that the words came out correct. "You remind me of it so frequently it's hardly new news."

"Come," said Nakago, taking her forcibly by the arm.

"Where are we going?"

"If you insist on making a scene, it will be less conspicuous out of the hearing of everyone in the inn."

"I am _not_ making a scene!"

He ignored her, half-marching, half-towing her up the staircase. Once inside the privacy of the bedroom, he forced her to sit on the bed.

"I _wasn't_ making a scene," she said again. Actually, her voice was more of a whine, but Miaka felt that she was in the right in this instance. He had no right at all to be so controlling, to drag her up the stairs as though he was ashamed to be caught in her presence. A distant part of her mind told her there was probably more to it than that, that the demons were probably involved somehow, and Nakago's recent behavior might have something more to do with lying low than with embarrassment, but she found all such thoughts quite confusing and hard to comprehend in her present state of mind. Against her will, Miaka found her lower lip trembling. "I wasn't," she said again, petulantly. "And I hadn't even finished my food."

"How did he die?"

For a few seconds, his words did not register – at least not in the conscious part of her mind. When they did, she felt as one who has been punched in the stomach by an invisible hand – though perhaps that had something to do with the acid of the sake slowly eating away at her stomach linings.

"How did who die?" she repeated blankly.

"Your husband."

"Tamahome is not dead," she said, setting her lip stubbornly.

He gave her a long look, and Miaka's face seemed to crumble. She sniffed once, brushing the tears out of her eyes with her fingers. "All right," she mumbled. "He is dead, then. Maybe."

She gave a dry sob, which caused Nakago's eyebrow to rise. "Kindly do not recommence your former histrionics."

"I am not," she said, "histrionical, nor do I plan on remoncencing – recomnenc – remon – that thing. You really shouldn't use such big words when you talk, you know. Why do you want to know how Tamahome died?"

"Because," Nakago said coolly, "Tenkou will play on every possible weakness."

"Just like you!" said Miaka, and when he did not respond, she let out a triumphant "Ha!" that was a little too loud and jabbed him sharply in the chest. "Anyway," she said haughtily, "Tenkou already knows how Tamahome died. He told me so, and he played on all my weakn'sses already when he burned my house down. So you're _too late_."

"He told you."

"'Swhat I said. The barrier between his world and between our world seems to be weak enough to let him to inflate – infitiate – get inside – my dreams."

Nakago was silent.

"It is _not,_" she declared, "a happy experience!"

"Then it is more important than ever," said Nakago, "for me to know how Tamahome died. If seishi who are supposed to be assisting you do not know the types of attack to expect, how will you have any hope of summoning the gods?"

Miaka leaned away from him. "You're just trying to take advantage of the fact that I'm drunk!"

"Would you desire to discuss this matter if you were sober?"

"Do you really want to know –" A noise caught in her throat – a sound that might have been a sob, or a watery bitter laugh. Some of the haze that had clouded her mind was fading, but she wished that wasn't. Her head was beginning to pound. "Do you really want to know how Tamahome died? Do you really want to –" Something inside of her seemed to be shattering. Her voice was crumbling, rising and dipping out of control. "_I _killed him," she said, half-choking the words out. She clutched the quilted bedspread, turning wide, furious eyes upon Nakago. "Are you happy now? You bastard."

-v-

Nakago watched her from his vantage point on the desk chair. Her eyes caught his, miserable and desolate – but beneath her despair, he sensed a slight wildness, almost bordering on madness. She had been brittle ever since the return to Hong-Nan, as if the memories of that boy had driven her closer and closer to the edge. Did she actually believe she had killed Tamahome?

No doubt she had managed to convince herself that she was personally responsible for Tamahome's death, in her usual manner of taking on guilt, but the idea of her murdering her husband cold blood was almost as laughable as the idea of him forming a life-long friendship with the bandit, and this caused him to say bluntly:

"You no more murdered the boy than I killed Soi in the Shijintenchisho."

Her eyes turned to him, illuminated only by the room's single candle. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bed. She was, some part of him noted, too short for her feet to reach the floor.

"But I did!" she said. "You think I'm so innocent that I can't do awful things, just like normal people."

"My dear miko, I am under no such delusion. You did seal your own god away, which requires a remarkable lack of consideration for the lives of others."

Miaka flinched a little at the reminder, but so focused was she on Tamahome that it barely stung her now. She had committed herself to telling Nakago the story of Tamahome's death, and now nothing short of a sudden and catastrophic attack on the inn by demons would distract her from this course.

Nakago noticed the tightness of her jaw, the slightly wild look in her eyes.

It had struck him, at the house, just how perilously thin her control was. Her _chi_ had been low from attempting to shield herself from the smoke. Had it not been, he wondered, would she have tried to destroy him when he had attempted to drag her away? She would not have succeeded, but the resulting destruction would have caused significant damage to those in the vicinity. The miko would have had more deaths on her conscience, then.

It all came back to Tamahome. Tamahome was the roadblock, the stumbling point that would cause their quest to fail absolutely. He wanted this issue dealt with, out in the open. There was no reason to be gentle anymore, and he would force the answer from her if he had to. He opened his mouth. Then he stopped, the cruel words dying on his tongue.

He could not remember ever seeing the miko look so fragile. There was an almost-dead look in her eyes, as though numb despair had filled her and threatened to swallow her up. He recalled seeing a similar look when she had arrived at Kutou. She was near collapse; her earlier request had shown just how close she was to madness.

She was finally broken, he realized suddenly. The destruction of her house had broken her better than Nakago's purposeful manipulations could ever have done; she was all but shattered, a former shell of herself, or perhaps in that uncaring state beyond vulnerability.

"Are you going to explain," he murmured, "or continue to stare pathetically ahead of you?"

To his surprise, she began to speak, slowly and in tones of great hopelessness.

"It was two months ago. We were on our way to visit Mitsukake and Shouka in Souen. We hadn't seen them since the wedding. Tasuki came with us as our guide.

"Everything was going so well. We stayed in tents, camped along the way, like we've been doing – the weather was warm, and there was no need to stay at inns – it was prettier under the stars. And then a cold snap hit – it was early spring – and it was too cold to spend the night outside, so we stayed the night in an inn. There were other families coming through, also staying at the inn, and we had a good time together that evening. Tamahome told stories to the kids –"

She had to stop for a moment to collect herself.

"And then we went to sleep, and when we woke up, someone was shouting, 'Fire!' and there was smoke all around, and we really couldn't see anything at all. I guess the innkeeper must have forgotten to put out the hearth-fire before he slept, or the chimney got blocked somehow – we'll never know, he's dead now. Tamahome got me out, somehow, and then he realized the kids were still in there and went back inside. He thought he could be in and out quickly, only he wasn't – and a piece of wreckage struck him and he was badly burned.

"It would have been so much better if he'd died right then. Tasuki and I – we thought we could save him. Tasuki went to get Mitsukake. I stayed with Tamahome. The village doctor tried to help, but –"

There was a horror to the illness that she could not convey. The gangrene creeping in, the paleness, the smell of death that she imagined lingered over the camp.

"After a week Tasuki was not back still, and Tamahome was – much worse. Feverish, and he could hardly remember who I was. There was a drug I gave him to make him sleep. I'm not trained as a doctor or anything, but I know what an infection looks like. In my world we know about these things. And he –

"I didn't know if Tasuki had forgotten about us altogether. We were giving Tamahome medicines, for the pain, but they weren't really helping him, he was still…. So on the seventh night, a week after it happened, I gave him three times the dose the healer said to give him – he was in so much pain, I thought it would actually help him – _No!" _she cried violently, "I _knew_! I knew what it would do to him, and I did it anyway. The healer said he couldn't save him, and Mitsukake wasn't there, I didn't even know he was coming – all I could think of was how Suzaku should never have been sealed, or how instead of wishing for peace and restoration and what-have-you, I should have been wishing for antibiotics to have been developed in the feudal era."

He disregarded the reference to antibiotics; he could inquire about that aspect her home world later. She was sobbing brokenly, hands pressed to her eyes. "No one else knows. They all think he died in the night, they have no idea that I – that he –

With a cry, she flung herself onto the bed. "I should have waited," she hissed. "Why was I so stupid?"

"Mitsukake could not have saved him. Not without his powers."

"But I could have," she whispered. "If I had known how to use _my_ powers, I could have saved him."

So this was what had been troubling her during their lessons. He remembered her shock when he first told her to learn how to heal. He recalled the violent way she had reacted to the burn she had given him, how she had attempted a healing so far beyond her abilities she had collapsed with exhaustion.

Earlier, he had warned her that Tenkou would prey on any weakness in order to get to her. Now he saw that he had indeed been too late. The miko was right; it had already happened; Tenkou had identified the miko's exact breaking point – the thing that would hurt her the most – and exploited it to his advantage. The house was the one thing that still tied the miko to Tamahome, and the lord of hell had set it aflame, burned up things that to her were all but sacred. And the miko was broken.

She said nothing, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, and as he watched her, an emotion stirred in Nakago's heart. Perhaps it was something akin to pity. Perhaps it was not pity at all, but an echo of the respect he had felt for her in the cave three nights hence, and regret that Tenkou should have brought her down to this level.

Somewhere along the line, the miko's well-being had begun to matter to Nakago. Not consciously – that would come later. For now, Nakago still believed that he was only looking out for her well-being for the sake of his own ends. And he was still able to attribute the unanticipated ache that her broken spirit brought him to his concern for their success against Tenkou. Soon that argument would grow thin – Nakago was too rational a person not to be brutally honest with himself when the situation called for it – but he still managed to sustain the illusion that he lacked a heart.

For now.

But the miko's words had elicited powerful memories in him, memories he had striven for many years to keep hidden. His rational mind could ascribe his concern for the miko to concern for his own life, but it could not overlook the _familiarity_ of her guilt. He, too, had known guilt and loss and the failings of his own powers, many, many years ago, and the similarity of their circumstances stood out to him starkly now, a god's joke clad in irony. And so, guided half by these memories, half by his instincts – not fully aware of the effect that his words would have – Nakago found himself saying:

"You could have saved him. And if a foolish boy in the Shijintenchisho had known how to control his powers, he could have saved his tribe from death instead of destroying it. Do not let could-have-beens define who you are, miko."

Miaka stared at him with wide eyes, her breath escaping in a sob.

Occasionally, we become so entrapped in our own inner dramas that we forget there is a world outside our own feeling. Rediscovering this world is like being reborn. This, in a sense, was what had just happened to Miaka. She felt a great outpouring of emotion that brought tears to her eyes again – but this time, the tears were not only for herself, but for Nakago.

Nakago's words had done something far more momentous than simply illuminate their connection of mutual loss. In Miaka's mind, they had planted was the subtle conviction, potent – yet entirely hidden from Miaka's conscious thought – that Nakago actually needed her, needed someone who could understand his past and accept him despite of it. Like many people, Miaka needed to be needed. Her misery was easier to bear so long as she knew she must work past it to help someone else. Now she had a cause again, a _raison d'etre_ to ground her to reality.

So Nakago had said exactly the right thing to head off Miaka's downward spiral, rouse her from her grief, and bring her back into the present. And he had done so almost unconsciously himself. The words that had risen to his lips were not premeditated, but instinctive, and he uttered them without prediction as to their effect.

Face wet with tears, Miaka felt her way off the bed and slowly bridged the narrow distance between them. Her arms wrapped around Nakago's torso, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

She could feel the way he stiffened at the unexpected contact, but she was still drunk enough to not really care, and anyway, he was always invading _her_ personal space.

"I'm s-sorry," she said. The words were muffled against his shirt. "It must have been terrible. To live through so much death in two lives."

"I don't want your pity." His voice was drier than sand in a desert, but he didn't try to disentangle her grip on him.

"I don't pity you at all," she said, looking up at him, indignation suffusing her voice. "It's just so sad."

"Miko." His hands grasped her shoulders now, tugging her away, but gently. "You are overtired," he said. He paused; the alcohol in the air made his eyes narrow. "And still drunk."

She removed her face from his shirt again but did not release him, only stared at him sadly. A tear was on her cheek. For a moment, he felt an absurd urge to kiss the tear away. Instead, he reached up to brush it off with a thumb. Their faces were so close that he could see every detail of it from her wet eyelashes to her chapped lips. _Hold me,_ she had said, back in the dining room. She was ridiculously vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," she said, sniffing. "You're right, this is a s-silly way to be; I need to sleep, I –"

Wordlessly, he led her to the bed. She slid under the covers. He saw the mortification in her face, even beneath the numbing layers of liquor.

"Sleep," he said. She would have a powerful headache in the morning.

She sighed and closed her eyes. He stood watching her for a few minutes before circling the bed and lying down on the opposite side. Though he was fully clothed, she would certainly screech and turn a myriad of pink and red shades when she awoke the next morning. This did not trouble Nakago. He had contemplated, earlier on, requesting a cot from the innkeeper, but it occurred to him suddenly that the miko ought to be kept on her side should she suffer complications from overdrinking, and this was a far better setting from which to watch her; besides, he was not about to pass up the chance to sleep before commencing on the second stage of the journey – and certainly not about to sleep in a chair.

The miko rolled over and snuggled against him; it took him a moment to realize she was fast asleep. He lifted a tendril of russet hair away from her face. "Hold me," she whispered, as though in sleep she could compel him.

So like, and so not alike. He did not hold her. Instead, he dreamed.

-v-

_He did not realize how bad it had become until she was pressed up against him, her lips at his cheek, and "Kiss me," said Taria, like she was desperate for something both of them lacked. Her eyes were like the eyes of a caged thing, wild, no longer beautiful. The nails that brushed his skin were long, like she hadn't seen the need to trim them down properly in the last weeks. _

_Both of them might have been the Emperor's toys but that did not mean that that made this any more permissible. And so he pushed her away, grabbed her by the shoulders and held her apart from him, or he tried to. The past years had taught him to be cold. It helped you, made you seem like you were strong, when in truth you didn't knew nothing of strength, just of surviving. _

_"What are you doing?" His voice was harsh too, cold like his hands, which were trying to drag her away by the shoulders. But Taria's lips were on his, rough and furious as though seeking to recapture something that had been hers all along. They were fourteen, and she kissed him like she was a woman (or like she was pretending she was) and he thought he had never seen her possessed with such furious determination. "Taria," he said, and she punched him, hard enough to hurt, but it didn't hurt, really, and he saw she was crying. She buried her face in his shirt, and her pale hair, blank as rice paper, fanned across his forearms._

_"What's happened?" she said, a half-sob. "Ayuru –"_

_"Why are you here?" In his room, at near two in the morning, when the lights were out. _

_"I want to know." A ragged whisper, half-muted by his shirt. "I want to know what love feels like, not just some shameful mockery, being treated like a child's plaything by a monster."_

_It was dark so she could not see the shock that touched his face, just for a moment. _

_"Don't you want that too?' she said brokenly. "You're his toy too, we both are."_

_"I don't know if I love you," he said._

_"It's okay," she said, and maybe she meant it's okay, anyone's better than that fiend in Emperor's clothing, or maybe she meant it's okay, I love you anyway; her voice was tired enough to have meant either. _

_"We should not do this," he said._

_"We're already filthy," she told him, "How can this make it worse?"_

_She was filthy; her hair was tangled like she had not brushed it in a week; but this time when she kissed him it was gentle, and he could not help but kiss her back. _

_"You always were stronger," she said, two hours later, when they were both on the verge of sleep. "You knew when to bend. I never could."_

_That was not right; it wasn't bending, what he was doing, just letting coldness absorb him until there was no part of him left to feel. He would never get the chance to tell her this, of course: she would be dead two months from now, and what attempts he made now to speak were cut off by her whispered, "Hold me." _

-v-

Somewhere, in another universe far, far away, Tenkou was laughing at him.

* * *

**Author's note: **NO I AM NOT DEAD I AM SORRY DO NOT THROW TOMATOES AT ME. This chapter was a beast to edit, a Turning Point, so-to-speak. I really wanted it to turn out well, so I decided to spend a lot of time on it, to try to make it perfect. It's definitely not perfect, but I do kind of like how it turned out.

It was also the last chapter in Part 3. Which means we are moving on to Part 4.

_Finally!_

Thanks so much to _Silver Hawk Angel, Desert Renaissance, alex, glady, honey, Jackey, Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan, tohru78, Helena, and Nile1283 _for your reviews for the last chapter! Hopefully I answered your questions below...

-v-

**Questions from you:**

**Does Nakago have a soft spot for Miaka? **

… Yes?

**And will they kiss?**

All in good time, m'dear. All in good time.

**Nakago saved Miaka from water and now fire. Will other elements play into this story, because I think that is an interesting path to explore.**

Hmm, interesting. I hadn't quite… _planned _it that way, I guess, although elements definitely are important in the Shijintenchisho, and in their current world. Suzaku is associated with fire, and Seiryuu is associated with water, and the other two gods with earth and air (though I always forget which is which, sadly… oh look at that, Genbu = earth, and Byakko = air, okay then. Yay for the internet).

**Lurking Hotohori makes me laugh! I pictured a Hotohori-shape behind a tapestry.**

Heehee.

-v-

**Questions for you:**

You might notice that I played around with perspectives a lot in this chapter. Nakago's 'emotional range of a teaspoon' (cookies if you know where that line comes from) perspective was limiting enough that it was finally starting to get to me, and I wanted to be able to analyze the scene as it was happening in a more omniscient way. …Reading Middlemarch a couple of weeks ago might have also had something to do with it… Anyway, did you find it annoying? Helpful? Liberating? (It certainly was very liberating for me as an author).


	43. Part IV: Prelude

...

**Part IV**

**...**

**XLIII**

**Prelude**

**...**

In all her life, Yui had never seen anyone drink quite as much coffee as Keisuke had drunk in the past seventy-two hours. It was beginning to seriously concern her. Yes, his baby sister was stuck in the book-world with a cold-blooded murderer, hordes of demons were doing their best to turn the four kingdoms into the Shinjintenchisho equivalent of Mordor, and the Lord of the Underworld had, for incomprehensible reasons, somehow got it into his head that Miaka would make a wonderful consort. And it was all very terrible.

But staying up for seventy-two straight hours couldn't possibly be healthy. Soon Keisuke would start hallucinating, and then they would have even more to worry about. Watching him zip around like a hummingbird on steroids was beginning to give Yui a headache.

Yui had not touched a coffeepot since Keisuke's arrival. Yui remained flawlessly, perfectly in control of herself. It had become very important to her that she do this. If she could only act normally, she could put her trip to the Shijintenchisho behind her as quickly as possible. She felt uncomfortable whenever she thought of how Keisuke and Tetsuya had been reading the book – just as she was doing now – for they must have been getting a bird's eye view of her role in the events leading up to the gods' summonings. It made her feel squeamish and dirty inside, because she knew that they had seen the worst parts of her. She could not help but worry that they were secretly judging her – that behind Tetsuya's inscrutable glasses and Keisuke's caffeinated panic lay a thinly-concealed disgust and disappointment, which – if Yui made a single misstep – would surely rise to the surface…

Thus far, she had been all right. Keisuke's current state of mind had left room for scant thought other than worry, and Yui truly believed that he had used up all his feelings on his sister and had no more emotion to spare. And Tetsuya had been perfectly polite to her, nice even. But they still made her nervous – particularly Tetsuya. She knew hardly two facts about that man's life, but she suspected he knew about her life in _extensive_ detail. And those cursed sunglasses of his made him nigh on impossible to read!

But she really _was _concerned about Miaka, and Keisuke couldn't be left to read the book all on his own. So Yui acted thoughtfully and considerately and _perfectly_, and when her parents left for a business trip she offered the use of the Hongo house so that they could all take turns watching the book without interruption. It was better than being at the Yuuki household (or so Keisuke said, with feeling). Mrs. Yuuki, who did not know whether Miaka was alive or dead but feared the worst, seemed absolutely incapable of dealing with her daughter's disappearance in any kind of rational fashion. She oscillated between extremes, one moment shouting desperately at the police and the next moment throwing herself utterly into her work. For those well abreast of the events in the book, watching this spectacle was painful. But no one, not even Keisuke, considered telling Mrs. Yuuki where Miaka really was. There were just some things you _could not_ tell certain people, and Mrs. Yuuki was too skeptical, too grounded in the mundane realities of everyday life, to believe that Miaka had been sucked into a _book._

So Keisuke had taken shelter in the Hongo residence, which – in addition to being momentarily free from interfering adults – had the added benefit of sporting a recently-purchased Keurig. That had been three days ago, right after Tamahome's death in the book world, eleven days after the gods had been summoned in Earth time. Tetsuya had joined them the next day. He and Yui took turns watching the book. Keisuke tried to take turns at book-sitting, but mostly he hovered. When he was not wandering around the kitchen table, wringing his hands, he stood over them like an oversized vulture, sneaking peeks over the designated reader's shoulder until Tetsuya yelled at him to stop invading their personal space. Yui wished that he wouldn't.

It was Yui's turn to read the book now. She had always been a fast reader, and the moderate pace at which the words appeared bothered her a little. It made reading an impossibly frustrating experience. Yui read the words that had just appeared – "_And the seishi Nakago carried the Priestess of Suzaku to an inn where they could spend the night in safety"_ – and then tapped her fingers against the page.

Time passed quickly in the book. In the space of a day (Earth time), Miaka had battled with Tomo, saved Nakago's life, arrived in Hong-Nan, gotten poisoned, almost drowned, met with Nakago and the Emperors of Sairou, Hong-Nan, and Hokkan, and nearly suffocated in a fire. And now Miaka was being carried around Eiyou by Nakago – presumably in an unconscious state, for Yui could not imagine a conscious Miaka ever consenting to allow Nakago to carry her. Still, Yui wished she didn't have to endure these frequent pauses in the middle of reading. She let out a sigh, which she thought was soft, but which much have been audible, for Keisuke whirled toward her at the faint sound.

"Huh?"

Keisuke's eyes were bloodshot and wild, and Yui swore she could see gray hairs starting to appear above his temples. Bags the size of small dumplings were sprouting up beneath his eyes. He was, Yui thought, turning into an old man. "I didn't say anything," said Yui, watching askance as Keisuke whisked his thirtieth coffee cup out of the Keurig. She looked at the diminishing pile of K-cups and wondered what her mother would say when she came back to find her neat stacks of Italian roast severely demolished. "_Do_ try to be careful," she told Keisuke. "You can die from overdosing on coffee, you know."

"You can also die from drinking too much water," Keisuke retorted vaguely, taking a defensive slurp of coffee. Yui wasn't sure how this was even related to her comment, but had long since decided that arguing with Keisuke when he was in this state was a futile endeavor.

"Please go to bed," Tetsuya said, from his spot on the divan. He was reading a book – not _the_ Book, but a different one – and he was not even looking at them. Yui briefly wondered how he could read anything at all with sunglasses on.

Keisuke put down his cup of coffee and said with a huff:

"I'm not going to sleep until I know for sure that Miaka is okay!"

It was the same argument they had been having for the past four hours, and by now Yui was sick of it. She wanted – desperately, really – to go to bed. It was a horribly uncharitable thought, and she felt annoyed with herself for thinking it – but they had been awake for so long, and so much had happened, and she really couldn't think of anything else that they could _do_ for Miaka. But she couldn't possibly suggest this in front of Keisuke, especially not after all that had happened. _Especially_ not after all the trouble _Yui_ had caused just two weeks ago. So Yui said nothing, and kept staring blankly at the page, and tried to tune out the argument which, by now, she could predict almost word-for-word.

"... been awake for three days! Ever since Miaka arrived in Kutou and got discovered by that bastard shogun."

_Yes,_ Keisuke would say,_ and he's still a bastard… and there are demons all over the world… and something about Miaka being in more danger than ever…_

"Yes," said Keisuke mulishly, "and he's still a bastard, and there are demons all over the world, and Miaka's in more danger than ever! Excuse me for being a little concerned!"

…_What good will you be to her if something happens to her while you're in _this_ state?_

"What good will you be to her if something happens to her while you're in _this_ state?" said Tetsuya, adjusting his glasses.

…_What good will I be to her if something happens to her while I'm asleep and she _dies?

"What g – Ouch!" said Keisuke, taking Yui's internal voice by surprise.

"Be careful," she said absently, watching him mop up the coffee he had just spilled.

"What good," Keisuke said, ignoring her, "will I be to her if something happens to her while I'm asleep and she _dies_?"

"Well," said Tetsuya –

– But Yui had stopped listening. Hands pressed over her ears, she turned back to the Universe of the Four Gods, where new words were finally appearing.

_The priestess awoke, confused and frightened, and asked the Seiryuuseishi what had transpired. Shrouded in grief, overwhelmed by all she had lost, the priestess left the chamber. _

_And as the priestess sat at the table, drinking glasses of ale to drown her sorrows -_

"MY BABY SISTER IS DOING WHAT?"

Keisuke's shout, barely dampened by the hands Yui was holding over her ears, sent her tumbling forward. She overbalanced off the chair and landed on the floor with a soft "Ouch!"

"_Will you stop vulching?_" Tetsuya hissed.

Keisuke blinked at him.

"Vulching! Swooping around to read over peoples' shoulders like an overgrown turkey vulture! You're going to seriously injure someone." To Yui's surprise (and faint alarm), he leapt up from his seat on the divan to help her up. She really didn't need help, and she pretended not to see the proffered hand, which was quite an accomplishment given its position a few inches in front of her face. With some difficulty she pulled herself and the Universe of the Four Gods and the chair to a standing position.

"I think you've had enough coffee, Keisuke," she said, taking the coffee cup from Keisuke's hand and firmly steering him toward a chair. "Do calm down."

"But Miaka's on the road to becoming an alcoholic!" Keisuke moaned. "How can I _not _be upset?"

"Well," said Tetsuya, who had really had quite enough of Keisuke's antics by this point, "at least she's in no danger of becoming an overtired, caffeinated idiot, like her brother! You scared Yui so much that she almost hurt herself, and you even scared _me_ into spilling my tea over what was a perfectly usable set of pants until two minutes ago. Enough's enough. You're going to bed, even if I have to drag you there myself."

Without warning, he locked an arm around Keisuke's chest and proceeded to forcibly drag Keisuke from the room. Keisuke protested furiously. He flailed and tried to free himself, but he was only able to muster a feeble defense in his exhausted state.

Yui watched them go with a feeling of mild relief. Then, rubbing her eyes, she turned back to the Universe of the Four Gods.

_And as the priestess sat at the table, drinking glasses of ale to drown her sorrows, she pondered the mysterious turns life takes. Then the seishi Nakago appeared before her, and the priestess of Suzaku turned to him for comfort. _

She stared at this sentence for a moment and tried to make sense of it. But there was really no making sense of it, and after awhile, she gave up entirely and kept on reading.

_The seishi of Seiryuu began to inquire about the death of Suzaku seishi Tamahome. The priestess of Suzaku was loath to talk about her husband's ill fate, and she grew wroth at the many inquiries directed at her. But the seishi of Seiryuu was persistent, and the priestess of Suzaku finally began to relent…_

"What's going on?" said Tetsuya, sitting down beside her and glancing interestedly at the book in her lap.

Yui jumped. "Oh!" she said, trying to act nonchalant and failing. "Nakago's finally managed to pry the answer to how Tamahome died out of Miaka, or rather, he's trying to. Did Keisuke go to bed?"

She was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had not been alone with Tetsuya since five days before, when she had happened to run into him at the convenience store close to her parents' apartment. It had been awkward and – well, _awkward_ – the awkwardness of a conversation between two people where one person has a completely unfair advantage over the other but is far too nice to comment on it. Yui could not help but be painfully aware that Tetsuya knew details of her life, whereas she knew next to _nothing _of his, and this awareness caused her to be standoffish and stiff. She would much rather be alone with Keisuke, who she had known before all this happened, and who was far too busy being worried about Miaka's continued safety to be anything of a threat_. _

As if sensing the train of her thoughts – or, more likely, noting the stiffness of her posture – Tetsuya looked at her. Or at least, she thought he looked at her; it was impossible to tell through those shades.

"He's asleep." He continued to watch her from behind his sunglasses. To her surprise, the parts of his face she could see appeared almost _concerned. _"You really don't like me very much," he said. "Do you, Yui?"

"What? No!" she said – rather stiffly. Really, it is very difficult to not be affronted by such an accusation – particularly if it is true. For Yui, the accusation felt like failure, a mark of how poorly she'd neglected to disguise her feelings and behave like a perfect hostess – and just when she thought she was doing so well! "I never said I didn't like you," she said, "and I don't know why you would think that. You helped to – to save my life."

"_Did_ I?" Tetsuya said blankly, as though he hadn't even considered it. A second later, his face brightened. "Well, I suppose I did, if you count catching you as you fell out of the sky when a bright turquoise dragon decided he no longer wanted you on the menu."

He remembered that moment, very well actually – indeed, he doubted it would be a moment he would soon forget. It isn't often that a young woman falls out of the sky into your arms, naked as the day she was born. But every time he had thought of that moment in the past few days – and, in perfect honesty, he had thought of it more than once – he had had quite different things on his mind than his own role in the story.

Studies suggest that the male mind judges a potential mate as 'attractive' in a matter of milliseconds. The instant Tetsuya had laid eyes on Yui Hongo, the visual stimulus of her image had traveled from his retina through the optic nerve, through the thalamus and into the visual cortex of his brain. From there, it had gone on to activate various other brain regions – the orbitofrontal cortex, involved in decision-making; the nucleus accumbens, associated with reward; and various components of the limbic circuit, which regulates emotion. The sum total of all these signals led Tetsuya to conclude that Yui was more than adequate as a potential mate. As a matter of fact, he was attracted to her.

Of course, simple attraction isn't quite the same as fancying oneself in _love. _Tetsuya did not know that he was in love, only that something about Yui had attracted his interest. But if he was not already in love, he was on the road to being there soon. Men – contrary to popular belief – are more likely than women to fall in love quickly. And Tetsuya, although he fancied himself rational and smart in the areas that mattered, was also something of a romantic. And, when you thought about it, there was something _quite _romantic about a fallen heroine who has narrowly escaped being devoured by a beast-god, only to be saved by Tetsuya, who – although not quite a knight in shining armor, did have very shiny sunglasses, and a very impressive collection of weaponry amassed in World of Warcraft.

Yui watched Tetsuya's face assume a thoughtful expression, and felt herself rather baffled by it, but not half as baffled as she would have been had she been aware of the thoughts running through his head at that precise moment.

"Still," said Tetsuya, suddenly remembering the original tenor of the conversation. "I can't help but think we got off on rather the wrong foot, and I'm sorry."

Yui said nothing. Tetsuya went on:

"I hope it's not anything I did. You've been doing a lot here, putting on a brave front, taking care of Keisuke. Well, we both know he's completely insane, but you've been managing him splendidly. And really, you had your own set of pretty awful stuff happen to you in the book, and I suppose this whole thing now must be at least as hard for you as Keisuke – hey now, are you sure you're all right?"

Because suddenly, for reasons Yui did not understand, she was crying.

Perhaps it was the strain of forcing herself to act pleasantly for so long. Perhaps it was knowing that someone had seen the worst of her and really _didn't _despise her. For Tetsuya, when he had opened his mouth just now, had spoken with an openness and honesty that made her feel sure he was genuine.

Whatever had just happened, the perfect façade she had cultivated for the past fortnight seemed to have deserted her like a rabbit deserts a field full of foxes, and she was left with nothing, only raw emotion. Miaka was right. Kindness really _did_ hurt worse than anything else.

Tetsuya patted her a few times on the back, somewhat awkwardly. "There, there," he said, and he handed her a tissue. "Blow."

She laughed a little and blew her nose. It suddenly seemed all so ridiculous. Or perhaps she was just tired. Yes, maybe all she really needed was a good night's rest.

"Feel better?"

"Yes, actually." And she really did, enough to be almost amused by the expression of extreme relief that crossed his features.

"Good. Now let's see what's been going on in the book in the last five minutes, and then I'll take over and you can sleep."

Somehow, inexplicably considerably lighter of heart than she had been even minutes before, Yui reread the section that had just appeared.

_The seishi of Seiryuu began to inquire about the death of Suzaku seishi Tamahome. The priestess of Suzaku was loath to talk about her husband's ill fate, and she grew wroth at the many inquiries directed at her. But the seishi of Seiryuu was persistent, and the priestess of Suzaku finally began to relent…_

New words had appeared beneath. Yui frowned.

_She began to tell Nakago of her past, and of her guilt for the death of the seishi Tamahome. And the seishi Nakago offered her comfort and saw her fast asleep. Then the former Shogun of Kutou joined the priestess on the pallet, and there they slept until dawn –_

Yui blinked. Tetsuya blinked. They read the words again.

"Well."

Tetsuya cleared his throat.

"_No!_" said Yui, grabbing the book from him and managing to smack his arm in the process. It really served him right for thinking such dirty thoughts about her best friend. "That is _not_ a euphemism for – for – whatever you're currently thinking it's a euphemism for –"

"Them doing it," Tetsuya supplied.

"Yes! – I mean – " She glared. "Get your mind out of the gutter!"

As if to punctuate her comment, a loud snore was heard from the next room. Yui clapped a hand over her mouth. For a moment, she was silent. When she did continue speaking, it was in hushed tones.

"Do you think there's any way to get Miaka back, Tetsuya? She's been gone for so long already – and. Well."

It was a question she hadn't dared to breach while Keisuke was around.

"I wish I could say for sure," said Tetsuya. "But honestly? If she summons the gods – not one, but four – without being devoured, that will be its own achievement."

Yui suddenly felt very adult, and very tired.

"Miaka avoided being devoured by Suzaku the first time by her choice of wishes," said Tetsuya. "She used her first wish to seal Seiryuu, and in doing so she set you free. That gave her the idea to use her third wish to avoid being devoured – by sealing Suzaku with his own power. She won't be able to do that again, or she'll be stuck in the same situation she is now. This time she'll have to summon the gods properly and suffer the consequences."

Yui felt rather sick. She remembered the feel of scales spotting her body, first along her side and then her legs and arms.

"But," said Tetsuya cheerfully, "there's quite a bit that doesn't add up, so much so that it's almost absurd to be worrying yet. For instance, if you consider her second wish –"

"What about her second wish?" said Yui. "She used it to send everyone in the Shijintenchisho into a parallel universe where they would be happy."

"Essentially," said Tetsuya. He flipped back through the book a ways and pointed to a section. "She wanted the worlds to be _'restored, as though there had never been a battle, as though the priestesses had never set foot in the Shijintenchisho'_. But since it's impossible to change the past, I think Suzaku just did the best he could and sent everyone in the Shijintenchisho off to a parallel world, the best one that fit those criteria. At least, that's what it sounds like. I've been doing some reading – just a bit of light skimming through theoretical physics journals – fascinating stuff –"

Yui cleared her throat.

"Right! So it turns out that the physicists have been thinking of this stuff as far back as the 50s – that's when the many-worlds idea was first proposed. I don't understand the science of it any better than you do, but basically the main point is that each time an event has multiple outcomes, a new world is created that's superimposed upon the old one. So this means there are an infinite number of worlds, all existing side by side – in parallel if you will – and a new one is created each time an event can go two ways – are you with me so far?"

"And this means," he said, as Yui gave an affirmative nod, "that somewhere along the line, there must have been an event that split the world Miaka's in now from the world of the Shijintenchisho. Some event that led to the Shijintenchisho having magic and gods, and her new world having no magic and no gods."

"And you think this event is… important?" Yui asked.

"Possibly. Or maybe not. But it leads to some new questions, don't you think? What do we really know about this new world? What, when you get down to it, did we even know about the Shijintenchisho? Why do the old rules not seem to apply to Miaka anymore? She retains her powers even though none of Suzaku's seishi can harness theirs; Tenkou thinks she's special (although that may just be because he's a greedy letch); and this time, Miaka doesn't have to be a virgin to perform the summoning ceremony."

Tetsuya had put his fingers on some of the inconsistencies that had been unconsciously troubling her throughout the day. Yui frowned as she tried to puzzle through what he was saying. "So you think that the rules of this new world might be different from the rules of the old world. That in this new, parallel world there might be a loophole somehow, something that allows Miaka to survive."

"Yes. Possibly. Or maybe there's something even bigger at stake, something else going on that we're not understanding. We don't even know how the gods came into existence for instance, or Taiitsukun, or Tenkou. That could be important too."

"How will we find out?"

Tetsuya shrugged. "Research. Books on ancient mythology – this universe seems to match the Ancient Chinese mythological system, though not exactly. Scholarly papers. Primary sources, if we can find them. It's not great, but it's better than nothing."

"Where –" Yui began.

"The library. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast. Join me?"

Yui considered this. Tetsuya was, she was starting to realize, much easier to talk to than she had previously thought. And it would feel good to be actually _doing _something that might help Miaka, certainly much better than watching Keisuke stride about her house drinking coffee and tearing his hair. And tomorrow was a Saturday.

"Yes," she said finally, not quite realizing how important a small 'Yes' could be until it was past her lips. "Yes, we'll go at nine. Or whenever the library's open, I suppose it doesn't matter."

They sat in companionable (and tired) silence for a moment. Tetsuya sipped Keisuke's leftover coffee, and anyone looking at him might have noticed a happy grin flit across his face for a second. Yui watched the book. For the first time in many days, she felt – not relaxed, precisely. But almost happy.

"Look," she said, pointing at the page. "They seem to be waking up."

Tetsuya glanced over her shoulder, at the words which were slowly inking their way on the page. Then he began to laugh.

* * *

**Author's note: **What was that, you ask? Hehh… I think that was something that should probably have been a oneshot, but somehow got turned into the prologue/prelude for this section instead. Originally the prologue was about half the length and very silly, and somehow it morphed into… this… upon editing. Which just goes to show that things CAN sometimes be over-edited.

Anyway! Hello and welcome to Part 4, the last quarter of the story! Don't worry: this is still a Nakago/Miaka story (with some random other characters thrown in occasionally) and the focus of subsequent chapters will be on Nakago and Miaka. I just happen to like Tetsuya and Yui too. Yui is a complicated person, and therefore quite interesting. And Tetsuya is just fun. I picture him as loveable, yet somewhat clueless… a bit like Ron Weasley, but smarter…

Yes. Well. Let me know what you think, even if it's just a quick "This sucks!" or "This chapter was fluffier than a farm full of bunnies!" And I'd like to thank _Nile1283, Desert Renaissance, Helena, _and _tohru78_ for your lovely reviews for the last chapter!

Next chapter: Miaka wakes up next to someone she wasn't expecting, and Tasuki returns.

-v-

**Questions from you: **

**1. I wonder why exactly Nakago felt disquieted? Is it just the automonous variables or is he so jaded he has a hard time digesting honest, ulterior-motive-less gestures?**

A bit of both, I should think.

**2. The sentence about the bees buzzing confusedly over a disturbed beehive, was curiously ambiguous to me. I couldn't tell if he was just scoffing at them or also regretting his own extra knowledge in the matters that mattered..or more specifically, he regretted or at least felt sad at the way he had gained such knowledge while others seemed blissfully ignorant?**

Again, a bit of both…?

**3. I love drunk Miaka, she is so blunt. I think her intoxication did a whole lot of good to their relationship.**

Haha I definitely agree! And it is also just so fun to write about drunk people. (It is also pretty amusing sometimes to be the sober one in a group of drunk people, but less so when you have to take care of them afterwards).

**4. Taria in the flashback seems a bit more mature than Ayuru. But I guess, teenage girls are more mature than boys their age.**

I'm pretty sure she was more mature as a child than Ayuru was, too, in some respects. But yeah, I think she also grew up a bit faster, because she tended to fight back more and was punished more often.

**5. I can't wait for Miaka to wake up sober and see what she has been snuggling.**

Heh heh heh…

**6. The omniscient POV worked very well. **

Awesome! I'm glad. It is actually so much easier for me to write from an omniscient POV than a limited third person POV. Or first person, god forbid. First person is the worst. I once tried to write a story in first person. It was NOT pretty, and I am never making that mistake again…

**7. HP4 is the first book I read in the series…**

Yay! Good to know I'm not the only one who reads things out of order. I read the Tamora Pierce books Wild Magic-first, and I'm pretty sure the 7th or 8th volume of Inu-Yasha was the first one I ever read. And for some reason the 'emotional range of a teaspoon' line stuck with me from HP4 because we got the audio book for GOF and used to play it in the car.

-v-

**Questions for you:**

1. Does it bother you that there are so many other characters floating around in this story? (…though really, blame Yuu Watase; whose idea was it to have SEVEN seishi per god? MADNESS, I tell you!)

2. Was the editing job on this chapter too sloppy? I wanted to get it out fast, because it's sort of been brewing for the last week or so, and I really really want to finish this story soon and I keep getting sidetracked by the part of me that's like 'LET'S MAKE THIS CHAPTER PERFECT!' Ugh.

-v-

**Disclaimer:** I OWN EVERYTHING…. Just kidding. Anything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase.


	44. A second summoning

**...  
**

**XLIV**

**A second summoning**

**...  
**

Someone was shaking her shoulder.

Miaka moaned against the pain in her head and refused to open her eyes. "Go away," she murmured drowsily. A warm presence was at her back, unexpected but not unwelcome. Instinctively she drew toward the source of the warmth, pulling herself farther under the covers.

"Suzaku no Miko," said Nakago's voice behind her. "Surely you are aware that this is hardly the time or place for such conduct."

Later, Miaka would affirm (persistently and with great vehemence) that she had _not_ spent the next two seconds in a state of sheer and total panic.

She had _not_ shrieked like a little child confronted with a spider, _or_ cursed louder and more inventively than Tasuki confronted with a horse.

She had _not _tried to leap out of bed, arms flailing wildly, heart galloping faster than a stampeding herd of wildebeests.

She had _certainly_ not come close to taking Nakago's eye out as she began to tumble backwards off the mattress, red-faced and tangled in bed sheets.

Really, whatever actually happened in the space of those two seconds was a moot point. Because at the end of that interval, Miaka was in the same place she had started: back on the bed, face-to-face with Nakago. Her right wrist sported mild bruises, from where Nakago had grasped it to save her from the fall that might or might not have just almost happened. Miaka – head still pounding, hair tousled, eyes accusing – stared at Nakago, feeling thoroughly bewildered, but certain that whatever was going on was entirely his fault.

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

Nakago was finding this whole situation and the miko's reaction amusing. It was almost as entertaining as the time Shijintenchisho Tomo had found himself cornered by a party of militant fangirls with painted masks in an inn outside Seisen. It was only fair after what the miko had put him through the day before, and he lost no time in taking advantage of this unprecedented opportunity. He reached toward her, pulling her close, and whispered:

"My dear miko. You _do_ have a poor memory." His voice, like a caress against her cheek, caused Miaka to gulp and catch her breath. "You were not _nearly_ so shy last night."

Miaka felt the color drain from her face. Everything that had transpired the previous night was a blur in her mind, indistinct as though obscured by a dense fog. Nakago's proximity to her was not helping matters. Her hand was on his chest, and she suddenly realized that she could feel his heartbeat beneath the scant fabric that separated her palm from his skin. She snatched her hand away, heart racing, and tried to pull herself as far away from him as she could. He held her, not quite firmly enough to hurt, but with strong enough grip that she couldn't pull away.

"Do you remember nothing?" said Nakago, chuckling. He was so close that Miaka could feel his breath tickling her cheek. The sensation filled her with a combination of panic and –

_And what? Desire?_

The instant that thought took root in her head, other thoughts sprang to join it, bursting into existence like unfurling snowdrops. She was suddenly, violently attuned to the fact that she was pressed up in what might – in any other situation – have been considered a very intimate fashion, against someone who was very male –

As fast as the thought flashed through her mind, Miaka rebelled against it. She valued personal traits like kindness, generosity, and integrity, and all the physical attributes in the world could not override the fact that (by her current calculation) Nakago's kindness quotient lay somewhere in the negative range – not to mention that he had an emotional capacity roughly equal to that of a banana.

So the errant flame was sent off to cower in a dusty, unused corner of her mind, and Miaka regained control of her somewhat watery limbs. She took advantage of this new development to shove Nakago as hard in the chest as she could. "Get away from me!" she hissed.

With her newfound clarity of thought, she tried to salvage what memories she could of the previous night. Pieces and fragments of last night's drama were beginning to filter back, arousing in her a mixture of embarrassment and relief. Slowly, the blood returned to her face. This had the effect of bringing a soft flush to her cheeks, but at least she no longer felt like the bottom had dropped out from beneath her.

Her eyes flashed as she looked at Nakago, confronting him with a glare that would have looked far more appropriate on a king cobra than it did on Miaka. Given the magnitude of her headache, she felt very proud of this accomplishment. "I might have been drunk," she said through gritted teeth, "But I wasn't _that_ drunk."

Nakago still looked entirely too amused for Miaka's comfort. (She was sure he was deriving immense pleasure from her humiliation – indeed, she suspected that this his perverse idea of revenge for the events of yesterday).

"You were sufficiently drunk to beg physical comfort from a sworn enemy, in full view – might I add – of a host of onlookers."

"You're not my –" But Miaka broke off, flushing dark red, as the memory of that moment – and a few others, perhaps more humiliating – swam to the front of her mind. It had _not_ been her best night. She distinctly recalled having trouble with words, and there was one memory, toward the end of the night, that bore uncomfortable resemblance to voluntary physical contact. Miaka opened her mouth in retort, not really sure what she was going to say, but anything at this point was better than no words at all – but before any words could even begin escape her lips, she was interrupted.

By a sound at the door.

Murphy's law states that whatever can go wrong in any possible situation actually _does_ go wrong, because the universe is perverse and disobliging and enjoys messing with our heads. Of course, this is not actually the case, but what _is_ true is that the human brain has a tendency to remember negative events much better than positive ones, perhaps giving rise to the impression that the universe's attitude toward humanity is a resounding 'f*** you.'

Since today was decidedly _not_ Miaka's day, her memory processing centers were already on overdrive, busily forming new memories associated with the negative emotions of shock, humiliation, panic, and confusion.

So, when the door opened and Tasuki stepped in, Miaka's neurons catalogued every detail, from the sound the door made as it swung on greasy hinges, to the sight of Tasuki, whose sunlit hair brought to mind an untamed inferno. In the future, Miaka would always recall the _precise _look of shock and bewilderment that swept across his face as his eyes swept across the two of them – from Miaka, fully clothed, but still tangled in bed sheets, to Nakago, cool and amused and thoroughly unperturbed behind her.

"Tasuki?" she said, almost guiltily, and then she realized what his presence meant, and her face brightened perceptibly. "Tasuki!"

"Is the simple decency of knocking beyond the scope of your comprehension, bandit?" Nakago asked lazily.

"You," said Tasuki, who seemed only capable of small words at the moment. "And her. And a bed."

Tasuki was not sure what was going on, but he was _very_ sure that 1) there was no possible innocent explanation for finding Nakago and Miaka in the same bed; 2) if anything had happened last night, then Miaka was thoroughly innocent of any wrongdoing; 3) Nakago was a depraved bastard with a history of malice toward the servants of Suzaku, which meant that Nakago had probably done _something _to her, so 4) Nakago deserved to die.

With his _tessen_, Tasuki could have burned Nakago to a crisp then and there. But Tasuki did not have his _tessen_. He might have tried Plan B, which basically consisted of attempting to punch Nakago in the face – (subtlety was not Tasuki's strong point) – but to do that, he would have to get past Miaka, who finally seemed to have noticed the rage that was spreading across the bandit's face.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding –" she began.

"The only misunderstanding –" Tasuki swallowed. "The only _misunderstanding_ there's been is him thinkin' he's gonna live after what he's done ter ye!"

"It's not like that at all!"

"I think it's pretty obvious what's going on," said Tasuki, glowering. "Get away from the bed, Miaka, an' let me deal with _him –_"

"Dear, dear, do I detect a trace of _jealousy_ in your voice?"

Nakago's voice cut through the air like a dagger slicing through lard.

_Well_, Miaka thought, as Tasuki's face turned even redder – _isn't _this_ a delightfully awkward turn of events? _And it wasn't even fair, because they hadn't even _done anything_ – and to top it off, somehow in the midst of her earlier panicked fall and Nakago's quick save her right leg had become entangled in the sheet of the bed, and she was having an enormous amount of difficulty extricating herself.

"_Jealousy_," Tasuki repeated, his voice growing steadily rougher. "And what, exactly, do you suppose me ter be _jealous _of, you #$&*ing #$*&)#ing son of a &*#)$#*$ing #$#^#$ who smelt of #$^# and whose father %^$ed a !$%#%ing *^##!% while #%#%ing with a _toothbrush_–"

It was in the middle of this tirade that Nuriko entered the room. More aptly, she glided into the room on a gust of silk and perfume, fanning herself with delicate grace.

"I see you've found them, Tasuki. Excellent job. My, my." She covered her mouth with her fan to conceal a smile. "What _have_ we here?"

"Nothing!" said Miaka quickly, not liking the delighted gleam in Nuriko's eyes at all. "_Nothing_!" Miaka repeated, finally managing to tear herself free of the covers and landing, with a triumphant _thud_, on the floor. "Absolutely nothing; nothing of _any_ interest _whatsoever_ –"

"Why," said Nakago, in the patient, almost indulgent tones of one speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. "I _certainly _wouldn't call last night _nothing_. My dear miko, there is no need to be shy –"

The sound grated over Miaka's ears. She wanted to slap Nakago. _Negative points for chivalry!_ she thought furiously; _he'll be approaching minus infinity soon! _How she had even felt the barest glimmer of attraction to him earlier was beyond imagination.

"Well, well," said Nuriko, smirking a little as she reached over and began prying open the fingers Tasuki had been slowly clenching into fists. "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Tasuki. Why –" (And she lowered her voice conspiratorially) "– I really think that this is quite a _positive _development. Don't you _see?_ I take it a as good sign, a sign that Miaka is moving _past_ her former misery. Though I _had_ hoped she might choose Amiboshi as the object of her affections–"

"_I HAVE NOT CHOSEN ANYBODY AS THE OBJECT OF MY AFFECTIONS!_"

Miaka stopped, breathing hard, suddenly realizing that all eyes were upon her. Her face was as red as a ripe tomato.

She wanted to burrow back into the bed. She _really _wanted to pull the covers over her head, turtle-style, and stay there forever, at least until everyone – _especially _Nakago – left the room. Except that really wasn't an option, because they wouldn't leave – just continue to garner amusement at her expense. What was she, some kind of comic relief, doomed to provide unending amusement for all the bored, and/or perverted souls who happened to cross her path?

But there was one person who looked decidedly _un-_amused by the proceedings. Tasuki still looked ready to hit somebody. Miaka decided, for once, that she understood just how he felt.

So Miaka suppressed her desire to imitate the nearest lake-dwelling terrapin and crossed the room to join Tasuki. Then she managed somehow to _glare_ at Nuriko and Nakago simultaneously – which was quite a feat since they were on opposite sides of the room. She punctuated the glare with a pointed clearing of the throat.

"Out," she said.

"What?" said Nuriko, obviously taken aback.

"Please, Nuriko." And she sent a begging look in the other woman's direction. "I'll talk to you later."

Nuriko shrugged and then sashayed out with an unconcerned wink. Miaka turned to the next – and far more difficult – evictee.

"You too." She glared at Nakago, who was reclining on the bed, eyes closed, the picture of perfect boredom. "Get out."

At this, he did open one eye. "Why, miko," he said, "You wound me. Is that any way to treat the man who is _helping you_ _move past your former misery_?"

"The only moving that's going to be done," said Miaka, breathing hard, "is you. Moving out. Of this room. _Right now._"

There was a pause. Miaka could see Tasuki's eyes narrowing further. She swallowed. "Did I make myself clear?"

"I would think you would treat the object of your affections with more respect," he said, after a moment, and before she could snarl that he was far too disagreeable to be the object of _anyone's _affections – and _certainly_ not hers – he added, "particularly given that said object of your affections is the new ruler of Kutou, to whom you have bound yourself for the foreseeable future."

"WHAT?"

Miaka winced against the sound of Tasuki's shout. _Oops_. Chalk up another item on the list of things she would have to explain to Tasuki later.

Miaka felt her headache intensify perceptibly.

She drew in a deep breath.

"I don't care if you're the new ruler of Kutou, or the four kingdoms, or – gods forbid – Mount Taikyoku, that does not give you any right to be a thorough and utter _jerk_, and if you know what's good for you, you will _GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"_

Nakago caught the red ball of chi easily in his hand and neutralized it. "I do so _love_ your temper," he said, and in a fluid motion he was beside her, catching her arm as she tried to slap him, leaned down, very close to her ear.

"We shall continue where we left off later."

The words were spoken in an intimate yet audible murmur. They carried with them the sound of a promise, and they were almost certainly intended for Tasuki's benefit. Miaka _knew_ Tasuki heard the words, because she heard him give a low growl, somewhere deep in his throat.

Nakago swept past them but paused at the door, nose wrinkling ever-so-slightly.

"I do believe," he said softly, as the other two stood frozen, "that your _pet_ is in need of a bath. And, while you're at it, you might want to try cleaning his mouth out – with a _considerable_ quantity of soap."

Chuckling quietly, he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

For a moment, all was silence. Then Miaka sent a ball of chi crashing toward the door, creating a hole the size of a small breadbox in the wood scaffold. She immediately regretted the action. Not only did it have absolutely no effect on Nakago, but it also meant damaging a perfectly good oak door, which she would have to pay for later.

Perhaps she could force Nakago to front the bill.

She was, after all, _'bound to him for the foreseeable_ _future,_' as he had _so kindly_ reminded her.

"I hate him," Miaka muttered, "so much right now."

"I can kill him for you," Tasuki said.

It would have been funny, except Miaka knew that Tasuki was deadly serious, that when Tasuki said he would kill Nakago, he meant it, thoroughly and unswervingly and absolutely. Without a shred of doubt, Tasuki would try to obliterate Nakago from the face of the earth, if she so much as inclined her head.

That frightened her. Nakago was not an opponent to be challenged lightly – and Miaka had cause to believe that Nakago despised Tasuki already. Without his powers, there was a decent possibility that Tasuki would end up a heap of ash on the floor of the inn should he attempt to take on Nakago.

Miaka placed a hand on Tasuki's shoulder. as though that would suffice to hold him a place. "Please," she said, "don't. He hasn't done anything quite horrible enough to die for."

"Yeah?" said Tasuki. "What about when he murdered Saihetei and abused ye at Hokkan?"

"I mean he's done horrible things, but –" Miaka broke off. "Not recently. Not – not in this world."

Tasuki experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was somewhat similar to the feeling you would get if you were faced with a fluffy kitten, and you suddenly discovered that that fluffy kitten had the beginnings of a mane and a tufted tail and was not a kitten at all, but a lion cub with claws the size of toothpicks. He straightened and stared at Miaka, who stared back at him bemusedly.

"Ye're defending him," he said.

Well, thought Miaka, that was one way to put it. Though _really_, at the moment, she was not defending her enemy so much as trying to save her somewhat mule-headed friend from a bloody and thoroughly unnecessary death.

But when she actually thought about it, weren't her words somewhat justified? Nakago really was an entirely different person from the man who had manipulated her best friend, toyed with the Suzaku seishi like they were chips on a board game, and steeped her life in utter misery for the better part of a month. He was helping them on this quest. Granted, he was doing so for somewhat perverse, selfish reasons that only he seemed to fully understand – and yet. _And yet_.

Tasuki saw the change in her expression and felt his stomach sink further. The fluffy kitten seemed to be morphing into something that was not a lion cub at all, but a dragon with giant fangs that could do considerable damage to your house if left unattended.

"You really think he's _changed_?" he asked, disbelief making his voice rise.

Miaka blinked. "Yes. I do, actually. You've changed, haven't you?"

"I certainly have not!"

"Tasuki," she said patiently. "You don't even remember who I am, half the time."

"I'm still," he said, "exactly the same person I was in the Shijintenchisho."

_Well, your stubbornness hasn't been done any favors_. As soon as the thought flickered through her mind, Miaka could almost hear Nakago's laughter, could almost envision his reply: _Well, well, what pot is calling the kettle black now?_

_Get out of my head! _she thought, with some verve. It was a sign that she had been traveling with Nakago for too long, Miaka decided, that she could actually imagine Nakago critiquing her _thoughts. _

"What about me?" she asked Tasuki brightly. "Am I the same as I was in the Shijintenchisho?"

"Of course ye're –"

He broke off, staring at her. The silence stretched. Then he drew a breath, and she could see the corners of his eyes narrowing. "_He's_ changed you," he said.

Miaka glanced up quickly. She ought to have expected Tasuki to say that.

She opened her lips to change the subject to something less dangerous. She _knew_ better than to let Tasuki's start down this track; to do so would get him riled again, and that was the last thing she wanted right now. But a part of her was curious; she wanted to know just how much she had changed. And so she asked:

"What do you mean?"

It was Tasuki's turn to be flustered. Flustered for Tasuki involved reddening around the ears and lots of swearing. It was almost adorable. Had Miaka's morning not been so trying, she might have smiled. Instead, she waited.

"Hell," said Tasuki at last. "You're just – _Hell!_" He spluttered a little. "Ye were sleeping with Nakago!"

"_WE WERE NOT SLEEPING TOGETHER!_"

Miaka took a huge breath, begging any unsealed deities who heard her to quell the flaming of her cheeks (which was not helping matters). "I mean," she said, "we _were_ in the same bed, obviously, but it was perfectly innocent. Like siblings. And I'm sure there was a perfectly good reason for it – There were probably just not enough beds at the inn – or something –" (Why _had _Nakago been in her bed? She _ought_ to have asked him that question!)

Tasuki opened and closed his mouth. Miaka _had_ changed; his image of her pre- and post-Kutou-self was so wildly different that it seemed impossible that she had not changed – and yet, as is often the case with subtle alterations in personality, he was finding it very hard to put words to the difference. Perhaps what Tasuki was reacting to was maturity. Certainly, Miaka had matured considerably since Tamahome's death. She carried herself differently, and more and more frequently displayed that sort of self-possession that borders on competence – not that anyone who was long in Miaka's company could mistake her for being a competent human being just yet.

She was, in other words, well on her way to becoming an adult.

Tasuki, who had spent all his life doing his best _not_ to fall into the trap of becoming a competent adult (while somehow maintaining excellent leadership of a group of bandits in a manner entirely reminiscent of a feudal era Peter Pan) instinctively recognized Miaka's maturity and recoiled from it. The changes he saw in Miaka, he concluded, were entirely Nakago's fault. It did not help that Miaka's gestures and mannerisms and modes of speech were beginning to bear slight resemblance to Nakago's – not unsurprising, since when two people are around each other for prolonged time periods, there is typically some assimilation of each other's traits. But Tasuki saw how Miaka's gestures and speech patterns were changing to match Nakago's and extrapolated (wrongly) from these observations. He concluded that the similarities between Miaka and Nakago's speech patterns were a symptom of a broader disease. Nakago was corrupting her.

So he drew in a breath and said, with as much dignity as he could muster:

"Fact remains, ye're an entirely different person since meeting him. Even Mitsukake noticed. Ye're doing magic an' blowin' holes in things. An' he said something about how ye _bound_ yourself to him –"

"Yes, that was the side effect of a promise I made to somebody on their deathbed. It's kind of a long story. And I always had powers, Tasuki, even back when you first met me –"

"But not like _this_!" said Tasuki, thinking of the red light that had burned a sizeable hole in the door just now – and then back, back to the even-more-powerful blast that had obliterated half of a cliff-face two weeks ago.

"I always had the ability. I just never learned to use it until now." Miaka smiled, though the expression held traces of regret. "If training my powers means that I can _save_ the people I care about, then why should I shy away from it?"

Tasuki glowered, frustrated. She wasn't _getting _it, the fact that Nakago was incontrovertibly evil, that he was slowly and effectively corrupting her, that teaching her how to use her powers was only the first step in Nakago's manipulative and complicated plot to dominate the universe, in which they were all merely amusing and dispensable pawns, and that – at the end of the day – saving people was probably the _last_ thing on that bastard seishi's mind. Had Miaka forgotten Hotohori? Had she forgotten _Yui_?

The kitten-turned-dragon was growling. Possibly it had suddenly sprouted three heads.

Miaka, who was completely unaware of the thoughts floating through Tasuki's brain, but who would not have been surprised by them had she known, let out a faint sigh. The problem, Miaka thought, was that Tasuki inhabited an unchanging world. His life was one of simple alliances and simple rules, where the law of the land was your own heart and your own strength, and people were constant and unswerving.

"People change, Tasuki," she said. "A lot has happened since we left the Shijintenchisho. You were there when the – when the fire happened – you saw. And since then, I've been on the run, trying to avoid the scheming of a mad lord of the underworld who's trying his best to off me." She smiled sadly. "Of course I'm different."

_But _Nakago_!_ thought Tasuki. _Ye say all of those things changed yeh, but it's really because of Nakago that ye're so different!_

There are certain people who find it very hard to let go of an idea once they have seized upon it; they tend to run their clever thought over and over in their heads until the idea takes on an aura that is more fact than hypothesis. Those incidents which confirm their idea are noticed, and events that contradict their idea are swept to a distant corner of the mind, carefully and tidily out of the way so they won't be troublesome. Such is the nature of confirmation bias.

Tasuki, unfortunately, was one of those people. He had seen seized upon the idea that Nakago was Very Bad News, that he was slowly corrupting his, Tasuki's, beloved miko. It would take more than a few words from Miaka to change his mind.

But he could see, by the expression on Miaka's face, that she was growing tired of the conversation. It was something he _really_ didn't want to see – his worst nightmare, really: Miaka's look of disappointment, directed his way.

He would just have to find some other way to deal with Nakago. Something that _didn't _involve Miaka.

"All right," he said. "As long as ye don't start chuckin' chi balls at me, I'm good with it."

Relief swept across Miaka's face. "Really?" she said.

"Really." It was almost worth lying to see Miaka so happy.

Miaka almost sagged with relief. She didn't like seeing disapproval on the faces of her friends any more than Tasuki relished seeing disapproval on _her_ face – and Tasuki was one of the Suzaku seishi with whom she was closest. Tasuki was _Tasuki_, always ready for mischief, always fun-loving and full of heart. "Great!" she said, almost beaming. "Well. You haven't told me what happened after you left Souen, you know."

And she linked arms with Tasuki and together they started toward the hallway.

-v-

Souen, it transpired, had fallen entirely to the demons. What villagers were capable of traveling had come with Tasuki and Chichiri to Eiyou to plead for help; the rest remained behind with Mitsukake and Shouka, hiding out in the mountains, concealing themselves as best they could. And the demons were slowly advancing on Eiyou.

Which was Very Bad News indeed.

Tasuki and Chichiri and the villagers had arrived in Eiyou the previous night, and the two of them had already met with Hotohori. This was something of a relief to Miaka, who realized she would not have to bring Tasuki up to speed with what had transpired in his absence, since Nuriko and Hotohori had clearly already taken turns filling him in. Although it seemed that the rulers of Konan had left out a couple key details in their story – such as Miaka's promise to accompany Nakago to Kutou.

Probably they had done this intentionally. Enraged!Tasuki, as Miaka had discovered that morning, was not especially fun to deal with.

Particularly when one was still recovering from dipping a little too heavily into one's cups the previous day.

She rubbed her still-aching head and glared at Nuriko as she slurped the remains of her porridge. She had felt considerable embarrassment when she had arrived in the dining hall to find _everyone _staring at her. And _everyone_ really was almost _everyone_; Nakago, Nuriko, Subaru, Tokaki, Suboshi, Amiboshi, and Kaen were all seated or standing around the small dining room, giving it a decidedly claustrophobic air.

All traces of small talk died abruptly upon Miaka's and Tasuki's entrance to the hall. Miaka had had the sinking suspicion that they had all been discussing her. And that suspicion was confirmed by the glance Subaru sent her as Miaka went to the front to dish up some porridge that the older woman was stirring. Really, Miaka thought glumly, nothing could be more humiliating than being on the receiving end of a "knowing" wink from a 120-year-old Byakko seishi.

All this meant that Miaka was in decidedly grim spirits as she slurped her porridge. But her spirits reversed very quickly. Because as soon as Miaka had eaten and drunk enough so as to no longer resemble a rampaging hyena, Nuriko wasted no time in informing her that they had collected all of the holy objects and all of the seishi and were ready to summon the gods. Immediately.

_Wait. What?_

"… What?" Miaka managed to ask between coughs. Her porridge had gone down the wrong pipe a second before.

"I thought you'd be pleased," Nuriko said smugly. "Let me repeat that, statement, shall I, for the sake of everyone here. We now have _all _the holy objects and we have _all _the seishi. I'll go through them one by one. First, the artifacts. Miaka has the mirror that's needed to summon Byakko. Lord Kazuhiko gave it to her willingly. She took it with her into the city; I assume you still have it on your person…?"

"Yes," Miaka said dazedly. "Well, it's back in my room."

"Nakago acquired Lord Sadao's necklace – which we need to summon Genbu – using methods that are probably best not discussed in public." Nuriko turned towards Nakago, all business. "Do you –"

Nakago lifted the necklace, which was, Miaka noted with a funny jolt, around his neck.

"Good. I've brought Saihitei's sword with me – the sword of Konan." She pointed to the scabbard at her belt. "And Amiboshi stopped by Miaka's room in the palace and picked up the scepter of Kutou on the way out – in addition to Miaka's luggage.

"Now, for the seishi. Subaru has been chosen to represent Byakko. I'm the Suzaku seishi. Nakago, you already know about. And Amiboshi's going to be functioning in the place of the missing Genbu seishi, since they're all dead –"

"Hang on." Miaka felt it necessary to interrupt at this point. "Amiboshi's a _Seiryuu _seishi. Is it even _legal _for him to substitute for a Genbu seishi?"

"Desperate times," Nuriko said dramatically, "Call for desperate measures."

Miaka looked at Amiboshi.

"It's really all right," said Amiboshi. "I've been in Hokkan so long, Taiitsukun said there would be no problem using me as a substitute."

_Taiitsukun really must be pretty desperate at this point._ Miaka caught the worried expression that flashed across Subaru's face and wondered if the Byakko seishi was thinking exactly the same thing that she was. If Nakago only had a week and a half to live, and they needed Nakago, then it made sense that Taiitsukun would help them find shortcuts.

Or else Amiboshi could be playing them false again.

But she didn't _really _believe that; the look on Amiboshi's face showed that he was in earnest. And there was absolutely no reason for him to be lying. Last time, he had pretended to be a Suzaku seishi as part of Nakago's plan to foil the summoning of Suzaku. Miaka would never, in a hundred years, imagine Amiboshi willingly ally himself with Tenkou.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Nuriko's voice, exuberant, vivacious, called Miaka back from her dreary reverie. "Let's get to it!" And, when Miaka continued to stare at her blankly, she sighed and said, in tones of one who is trying, and failing, to be patient with someone particularly slow:

"The gods aren't going to summon themselves, you know!"

At this, Miaka's lower jaw actually did drop a little.

"We're summoning the gods _right now_? _Here?_"

Not that Miaka didn't _want_ to summon the gods; she wanted to complete the summoning ceremony almost as much as she had ever wanted anything in her life. But now that the possibility of the ceremony was actually upon her, it all seemed so awfully sudden. She felt a sudden surge of terror, quite unrelated to the potential danger associated with the ceremony. She wasn't sure she was _ready_ to summon the gods. Apart from some vague idea about sealing Tenkou and saving the world, Miaka still had no idea what she was going to wish for. And she had the mistakes from the _last _summoning to remind her how important it was that she wished for the right thing!

And, quite apart from her lack of preparation, it also felt irreverent, somehow, to hold a summoning in the dusty early-morning gloom of the inn. But Nuriko seemed supremely unconcerned by the paucity of their surroundings.

"It's not like you can safely go back to the castle," she said practically, "and Suzaku's temple doesn't even _exist_ in this world; and anyway, the innkeeper's not awake yet. He won't notice."

This was true; it was still quite early, and Hisao, who was quite often drunk, did tend to rise rather late. And, really, they had no time to lose, if the demons were truly marching on Eiyou.

Amiboshi, who seemed to have the best grasp on what sorts of thoughts were going through Miaka's mind at that moment, looked at her and said quietly:

"You don't have to make all your wishes right after the summoning, you know."

That was true. Miaka felt suddenly lighter. She nodded grimly. "All right," she said, determination filling her voice. "Let's do this!"

Still, she could not help but glance at Nakago, wondering if he had something to say about all this – half-expecting some kind of derisive remark that would throw cold water on this plan. She was almost tempted to ask him whether this was the right thing to do. He, out of all of the seishi present, seemed to be the one who most commonly had the answers.

But his face was carefully neutral. It seemed, in this instance, he didn't know the correct course of action any better than she did. Or, if he did doubt that this plan was the correct one, he wasn't saying anything. Which wasn't necessarily an endorsement, but did make Miaka feel a _little _better.

She ran back to the bedroom to fetch the mirror. When she returned, she saw that her seishi were pushing the chairs out of the way, stacking them carefully against the wall toward the back of the room. The tables met the same fate. Miaka really hoped that nobody else in the inn was awake at this hour; they would have a decidedly uncomfortable time of explaining their actions to curious bystanders.

When they were done, they stood in a circle – Amiboshi, Nuriko, Nakago, and Subaru, with Miaka at the center. Miaka wondered if she ought to suggest that they take hands, and then thought that might be pushing it.

"Do you remember the words?" said Nakago.

Miaka felt a moment of panic. For a horrible second, the first words of the summoning incantation hovered, just out of reach, at the edge of her mind. She had memorized it so long ago.

The moment passed. She found the first word, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, and dredged it out. The remaining words followed smoothly, to her relief. It was like riding a bike, she thought: once you've learned to summon a god, you don't _ever_ forget.

_The four palaces of the heavens_

_The four corners of earth_

_In the name of sacred law, faith, and virtue_

_I summon thee…_

When it came time to say the name of the god, she hesitated, then listed the four of them. _Seiryuu, guardian of Kutou to the East. Byakko, guardian of Sairou to the West. Genbu, guardian of Hokkan to the North. _And finally: _Suzaku, guardian of Konan to the South. _And then the rest of the words, flowing over her tongue like honey, until the last line, the final sentence:

_Descend to us from the heavens above._

Miaka waited. Mist appeared in the center of the room. At first a curl, it expanded, becoming a puff, and then a thick cloud. Miaka's heart was beating so hard and fast, she was sure the others could hear it. Her breath caught in her throat as though to choke her.

The cloud burst. A hideous face appeared, the stuff of nightmares.

"You IDIOT!" said Taiitsukun.

Miaka's heart sank.

That couldn't be good.

* * *

**Author's note:** Yup, they screwed up… WOMP WOMP WOMP.

This was a very silly chapter. I think I've been reading too much Neil Gaiman. Someday I'll learn to monitor my writing style so that I DON'T try to imitate the mood of whatever work of fiction I've been reading recently, but until that day comes, expect a lot of tone switches as I try to find a writing style that works…

I'd like to thank _Nile1283_, _SakuraGekido'Ikata-Chan_, _Desert Renaissance_, _tohru78_, and _Helena_ for your reviews for the last chapter! Also SakuraGekido'Ikata-Chan gets a cookie for being the 300th reviewer! Yay! You guys make me so happy!

-v-

**Questions from you:**

**I really think you should update sooner!**

The more reviews I get, the faster I'll update! (Note: certain restrictions apply. See package insert for details.)

**Keisuke appeared a bit too much like an over-adoring father figure like Tamaki Suoh from Ouran Host Club. I also did interpret him as a bit effeminate for some reason.**

-winces- I kind of sacrificed Keisuke to the gods of comic relief in this story. No, seriously. It's unfortunate because I've been trying to develop everyone's character equally, but I think I got to Keisuke and just kind of lost it. Although (heh) I've always pictured Keisuke as just a little bit effeminate. I don't know why…

**WHAT IS TETSUYA LAUGHING AT?**

Hopefully answered in this chapter…

**Kindness and sympathy does sting. Especially when people on the receiving end have any modicum of pride in them.**

It's funny that you should say this. I was just thinking about how Yui and Nakago are actually kind of similar, in the sense that both are fairly proud, and not given to showing weakness/discussing emotional sorts of stuff. Gotta wonder if her exposure to Nakago made Yui this way, or if it was the 'rape' incident, or if Yui was already this way to begin with. Or maybe I'm just crazy, and thinking of the Yui that I created and not Watase's Yui at all.

-v-

**Questions for you:**

1. Did the 'morning after' (heh) scene live up to peoples' expectations?

2. What did you think of Tasuki in this chapter? I was trying to flesh him out a bit more, or at least make him seem a bit less of an idiot than I feel like he was in Part 2. I'd be interested to know whether I succeeded or not.

-v-

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except bad humor and a really bizarre plot. Characters and everything else belong to Yuu Watase.


	45. All aboard!

...

**XLIV**

**All aboard!**

...

Miaka was used to things not working out. After the hideous fiasco of her first summoning in the Shijintenchisho, she had developed a fatalistic attitude toward everything involving deities. Instinctively, Miaka had _known_ that this summoning was too easy. She had not actually expected it to work.

Even so, Taiitsukun's abrupt appearance brought a curl of foreboding to her gut.

Taiitsukun looked even more dreadful than usual. Since her customary appearance was hideous enough to give Saihitei nightmares, that meant she looked very horrible indeed. Miaka was not alone in being affected by Taiitsukun's appearance. Kaen gulped and covered her eyes. Tasuki, whose prior encounters with the old woman ought to have rendered him somewhat immune, still let out a swear that caused Nuriko to hit him with her fan.

(The unfortunate innkeeper, drawn by the commotion, stuck his head inside the room, caught Taiitsukun's eye, turned pale, and disappeared around the corner).

"Kill me now," Miaka muttered.

"I've half a mind to," said Taiitsukun darkly. "Consider yourself fortunate that your death would mean the demise of our entire universe."

Miaka blinked. There was a pause, in which she tried to digest this most unwelcome bit of news.

"I think," she said, after a moment, "your definition of 'fortunate'leaves something to be desired."

"I think," Taiitsukun mimicked, "_your_ powers of observation leave much to be desired. If I'd known how badly you were going to muck up the worlds, I would have taken upon myself to ensure that you never looked upon the _Universe of the Four Gods_, much less got within arm's length of a summoning scroll."

That accusation stung. Miaka bit her lip, fighting the urge to blink rapidly. She knew she had messed up – still, it hurt to be called out on it so bluntly – She opened her mouth, preparing to ask Taiitsukun exactly _what_ she had failed to observe, but before she could, a bossy voice said:

"All right. What did we do wrong _this_ time?"

Nuriko was irritated, though trying to hide it. Nuriko had _thought_ they had gotten everything right this time. And, as Empress, she was used to getting her way. All the things she tried usually worked out the first time, or if they didn't work, she simply paid a lot of money to the right sorts of people and then waited a few minutes for the universe to right itself.

"Well?" she said.

Eyes were beginning to drift, unconsciously, toward Amiboshi – multiple pairs of eyes, not only Nuriko's. He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, looking mildly panicked. "I didn't do it this time!" he said, blinking.

"No," said Taiitsukun grandly. "The fault lies with Miaka."

"What did _I _do?" Miaka said, backing up a step.

"You summoned the gods in the wrong place."

_I knew it! _thought Miaka, remembering her earlier reservations about the inn. "So we were actually supposed to summon the gods at the palace?"

Taiitsukun's eyes narrowed.

"Come closer," she said, "and bring the mirror of Sairou with you."

Miaka thought _OhdoIreallyhaveto?_ and then she caught sight of the gleam and Taiitsukun's eye and thought, _OhdamnIguessIdo._

She stopped at what seemed to be a safe distance and stared at Taiitsukun with wide eyes.

"Now," said Taiitsukun with what seemed to be forced tolerance, "Look into the glass and _tell me what you see._"

Miaka blinked. Looked down at the mirror in the palm of her hand. Squinted.

"That's funny," she said, after a moment. "There are words, floating in the glass –"

"You mean you never actually looked at the mirror," said Nuriko, a bit incredulously, "after getting it from Lord Kazuhiko?"

"Er -"

Miaka thought back to yesterday afternoon. She had taken the mirror, smiled, and put it in her pocket. There it had remained until it had slipped out during the fire the previous afternoon – and even then, Miaka had only glanced at it briefly to ensure that it was not shattered.

"Read the words," Taiitsukun said imperiously.

Miaka was silent. It was Amiboshi, leaning over Miaka's shoulder, who spoke.

"It says, 'Look into my depths'," he said, "'for here you will see the site of the second summoning of the four gods.'"

"A _valuable hint_, don't you think?"

The sarcasm in Taiitsukun's voice could have frozen lava.

Nobody moved.

Even as Amiboshi finished reading, the words in the mirror had faded, to be replaced by a lake as blue as the sky above it, with water as clear as the finest ornate crystal, barely rippling, almost still. The lake was surrounded by low, rolling hills that gave way quickly to sharper cliffs, which towered over the eastern shoreline and reflected starkly upon the glassy water.

There was something familiar about the lake, Miaka thought. It was like a picture she had seen once, a long time ago. It was like the lake was shrouded in a veil of déjà vu.

And then, Miaka had it, the memory of where she had seen the lake before. _No_, Miaka thought, _It can't be the lake in Tomo's shin, that would be too much of a coincidence. _But was anything in the Shijintenchisho _ever_ a coincidence?

She looked at Nakago.

Nakago was not smiling. Miaka got the impression that Nakago had carefully arranged his expression long before her eyes reached him. He wore an air of such patent boredom that it _had_ to be feigned.

So Miaka was right.

Something very strange was going on here.

Miaka opened her mouth. But before she could interject, Nuriko chose that moment to speak, tossing back her head with a haughty sort of grandeur that bespoke her underlying irritation.

"We never had to worry about where the summoning took place _before_," she said. "Why, we even had the _last_ summoning in the middle of a street somewhere in Miaka's world, and that turned out all right. I really don't understand why any of this makes a _difference._"

"Because the Rules have changed," said Taiitsukun, in flat, disapproving tones that suggested she was nearly as irritated as Nuriko.

"Well that seems terribly arbitrary," said Nuriko, snorting. "Please; you're the ruler of Mount Taiitsukun. Don't try to tell me that you couldn't make the summoning _possible _in this inn if you wanted it to be."

There was a tense and pregnant sort of pause.

"The Rules," said Taiitsukun, and the way she said 'Rules' seemed to imply that these were not just rules but Rules, of a much mightier, weightier sort than any of their uncapitalized cousins, "are the basic laws that govern this world, and right now, I have no more control over them than you have control over the weather. The Rules changed the moment Miaka managed to merge our old world with this one. They changed in wild and unpredictable ways_. _You might think that if two worlds with different rules were merged, then by common-sense principles, the rules of the resulting world ought to be the average of its parents. But the reality is _far_ more complicated, and it would take more time than I have now to even _begin_ to explain to you numbskulls what kind of intricate juggling comes into play when two entirely different worlds are forcibly shoved together. _Even after spending the better part of six months trying to decipher how this new world operates, I continue to be surprised_."

Silence. Whether it was Taiitsukun's admission of her own lack of knowledge, or the force of the words she had just spoken, _something_ about her statement had brought a sudden grimness to the conversation. It was as if a chill sort of draft had just swept in through some secret doorway. Even Nuriko looked stunned.

"All right," said Miaka.

She probably should have been at least as worried as all the others, and twice as guilt-ridden. But Miaka had a streak of practicality to go along with her determination, and this took over now. She realized instinctively that comprehending the issue on the level of worlds would be complicated and unnecessary and probably beyond her abilities at this point. Someone else (Nakago) could do that. What she needed to know was _what_ she needed to do. That was the most important thing.

"All right," she said. "So, just to make _absolutely sure we're clear on this. _ The only way to summon the gods is if we're by the side of the lake. Because the… Rules have changed."

"Yes," said Taiitsukun.

"Will any lake do, or is there something _particularly special_ about this lake?" said Miaka, carefully avoiding Nakago's eyes.

Taiitsukun gave her a mirthless smile. Miaka had a secret suspicion that the old witch knew _exactly _what was going through Miaka's head at that moment. She refused to let it bother her.

"This lake," said Taiitsukun, "is this-world's parallel of the place where Tenkou entered the Shijintenchisho. If you wish to seal Tenkou, you need to summon the gods here. Any other questions?"

Nuriko and Miaka both tried to speak at once. Miaka was first, but Nuriko was louder, and she overrode Miaka's question with a sharp: "_How _do we find this _lake_?"

Nuriko was still irritated. In fact, her irritation was rapidly giving way to full-blown Annoyance. All she had ever wanted was a quiet life as Empress of Konan with the most beautiful man in the Four Kingdoms and a son who – though not quite as good-looking as his parents, was still her deer, sweet, cuddly little boy, whose cheeks were the color of peach-blossoms. And now she was going to have to leave all that behind because _she_ had been chosen to save Konan. And to make matters worse, demons were approaching Eiyou, and Hotohori _would _be stubborn and decide to take a stand instead of running for his life like a _smart person_, because he was _noble _and _heroic_ and all the good qualities she had married him for in the first place. She really ought to be here in Eiyou with him and Boushin, instead of running off to a lake in the middle of nowhere. She had _family life_ to consider. Couldn't Suzaku, in all his godly wisdom, have chosen _Tasuki_?

"Nakago will tell you where the lake is," said Taiitsukun. "He's been there before."

Eyes swiveled to Nakago, who looked perfectly unconcerned. Tasuki swore. Suboshi began to mutter _"Why him?" _before Amiboshi trod casually on his brother's foot.

"How far away _is_ it?" said Nuriko.

"A week, by ship."

"A _week! But the demons will be here any day now!_"

Nuriko felt a sick, swooning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Unbidden, Nakago's words from the previous afternoon played back in her mind, brought into sharp relief by the dire nature of their current situation:

_"I wonder how the Emperor would look possessed by demons, unable to control his own actions, only able to watch, a helpless bystander, as he drew his sword from its sheath, stabbed his guards through the heart, and then turned his weapon on other targets: his councilors – his servants – even his own son…"_

Suddenly terrified, Nuriko turned toward Taiitsukun. "You have to pick someone _else_ to go to the lake!" she said. "You have to pick someone else to be Suzaku seishi!"

"_No_." Taiitsukun's voice was coldly, horribly final. "It's up to you, Nuriko."

And that was it. No 'Oh, I'm sorry, did I disrupt your life plans?' or 'I'm sure everything will be okay, dear' or 'To compensate, I'll take care to watch over Eiyou and your husband and son in your absence.' Nuriko's hand – the one that was not still in splints – balled into a fist.

"_Why?_"

"You were chosen for a reason. Once chosen, you cannot be un-chosen. You _have _to be at the summoning ceremony unless you die. I suppose if that were to happen, someone else – Tasuki, probably – would be chosen take your place – but that _isn't_ something you want to find out, _is it, Nuriko?_"

With the exasperated air of a bank teller addressing the next in a long line of difficult customers, Taiitsukun turned to Miaka. "Was there something _you_ wanted?"

Miaka was still doing calculations. Since mental arithmetic was not her strong suit, this task required a significant degree of focus. She nodded vaguely in response to Taiitsukun's question, and made an indistinct hand gesture that was intended to indicate she was concentrating.

Three days ago in prison, Nakago had told her that he had fourteen days left to live before the kudoku ruined his life. A week plus three days was still less than fourteen. They could still make it to the lake in time to save Nakago's life!

"Miko!" Taiitsukun sounded like it was taking some effort not to start grinding her teeth. "I believe you had a question?"

"Sorry," said Miaka.

She tried to remember what she had intended to ask before Nuriko had started making inquiries about how to find the lake, but Nuriko's exchange with the ruler of Mount Taikyoku driven her earlier question clean out of her mind. She blinked and furrowed her brow, and finally she said:

"Who _is _Tenkou?"

It was _not_ the question she had originally been intending to ask.

"Tenkou," said Taiitsukun, and Miaka could not help noticing the shadow that seemed to pass across her face, "is a very cruel man."

Well, that was decidedly unhelpful. Miaka had had the misfortune of meeting the demon lord twice, and she already knew he wasn't sunshine and unicorns. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but it seemed to be a day full of interruptions, because Amiboshi was already speaking.

"Do you mean to say Tenkou is human?"

Miaka blinked.

"That depends," said Taiitsukun, "very much on your definition of _human_. Tenkou's power is such that he cannot be killed in most of the usual ways." She turned sarcastic eyes on Tasuki. "I would not, for instance, take that sword that you're so fond of hacking at people with and try to defeat him with it. He is immune."

"But there are other ways to destroy a person," said Nakago, his eyes glinting.

Miaka looked up sharply. She caught the glance that seemed to pass between Taiitsukun and Nakago, almost as if either was issuing the other a challenge.

"You think you're above the gods, boy." Taiitsukun's dry laugh cracked through the air. "Willing to challenge one yourself?"

"How could I ever dream of challenging a god?" Nakago said drily. "Besides, you have already said that Tenkou is only a man."

Taiitsukun stared at him for a moment. "Mind that poison you're carrying, and stick to the summoning ceremony," she said finally. "It'll simplify your life considerably."

_But I'm not sure if Nakago likes things to be simpler… _

Miaka watched Nakago incline his head a fraction of an inch, as though in perfect deference to Taiitsukun. For some reason, she was sure that he was faking.

"Now if that is all –" said Taiitsukun.

"Just one more question!"

It was not The Question Miaka had been meaning to ask earlier. She still couldn't remember that. But this question was also important. It had been nagging at her for some time, actually, and now – with Taiitsukun in front of her, she could not help but think of it again. Because thinking of Taiitsukun brought to mind memories of another Taiitsukun, a fake duplicate meant to lure her into a trap that would render her incapable of summoning the gods – and thinking of _that trap_ –

"Taiitsukun!" she said urgently.

"_What_, girl? I am not made of time." The sage scowled at Miaka. "Ever tried to stop the world from falling into darkness? It's not a walk in the park."

Miaka disregarded this. "The summoning will still work, right?" she said. "Even though Tamahome and I were – er – married?"

She swallowed, face red. Taiitsukun raised a hideous eyebrow.

"It _won't_ matter?" Miaka mumbled, feeling desperately – and not for the first time that day – like she _really_ never should have gotten out of bed that morning.

Taiitsukun glared into her eyes and snorted. Somehow, this action made her appear even more hideous than ever.

"I already told you, the Rules have changed. Weren't you even _listening_?"

She vanished in a clap of gray smoke.

-v-

Amiboshi and Tokaki had gone to the palace to inform Saihetei that they would need a ship equipped straightaway. They would be traveling by ocean until they reached the southernmost shore of Kutou; from there, they would ride along the Beniirone ridge, arriving at the valley of the Hin from the east.

Miaka followed little of this strategizing. It was not that she didn't _care_, but she had never been good at geography, and the implications of the failed summoning attempt were starting to hit home to her. She was not the only one who seemed pensive; Nuriko's eyes were downcast and the set of her mouth was grim. Nuriko had wanted to accompany Amiboshi back to the palace to bid Hotohori and Boushin farewell, but her garments were far too conspicuous for travel in broad daylight.

Slowly, the others left to equip themselves for the journey. Tasuki took money supplied by Nuriko and left to purchase additional supplies for the journey. Subaru left too, saying she needed to put in a few orders at the marketplace. In the midst of the commotion, Kaen slipped out, saying only that she would be back.

"Follow her," Nakago told Suboshi, as the door clicked shut.

"Why –"

"Do you want her to be harmed by some ignorant, battle-ready fool on the street?"

Chaos was building outside; Miaka could hear the shouts and clamoring that seemed to accompany hurried preparations for war. It would be easy to get lost in this din – or worse, attacked.

"Don't expect me to believe that you actually _care_," said Suboshi, glowering slightly.

Nakago raised a mocking eyebrow, as though to emphasize the sheer unlikelihood of this. "Dead or alive," he said, "her fate will be on _your_ conscience."

"He won't always do what you tell him," Miaka said, as Suboshi stormed out of the inn with a slam of the door. "Not forever. You can't just order people around like they're your slaves."

"On the contrary, Suzaku no Miko, I am quite capable of doing as I please. Suboshi _will _follow Kaen, because I was careful to impress on him the consequences of _not_ doing so. Just as the Empress Nuriko will accompany us on this quest because Taiitsukun was very careful to establish that _defying her authority has consequences. _Is that not so, Your Highness?"

Nuriko looked like she had swallowed a lemon, rind and all. She called Nakago a word that Miaka had never heard escape the Empress' mouth before (to which Nakago raised his eyebrows) and then declared that she was going back to the palace. Immediately.

"By all means, leave," said Nakago, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "Far be it from me to tell the Empress of Hong-Nan what to do."

"But," said Miaka, glancing out the window at the ever-more-chaotic scene in the streets, "she can't go outside without an escort! It's dangerous out there, and if she's recognized –"

"– then she may well have her throat slit by thieves in the chaos. It does not _please _me that I might need to interact with the bandit at the summoning ceremony because the Empress has suffered a gory and thoroughly avoidable death; and yet, it is ultimately the Empress' _choice_ whether she wants to be foolish and risk her head over something so inconsequential as farewell sentiments."

It was strange to see Nuriko so patently furious. Nuriko – who had broken up more fights in the Shijintenchisho than Miaka cared to remember – currently had her hands balled into fists, as if she wanted nothing more than to sock Nakago a good one.

"It is likewise her choice," said Nakago, not even looking up, "whether she will let concern for her family dominate this trip, or whether she will choose sensibilityover sentimentality."

"Of course I'm worried about them!" said Nuriko sarcastically. "Just because _you_ may possess the ability to survive in the absence of normal human relationships (not to mention decency and moral fiber) doesn't mean we're all blessed with such fortune."

"I did not say not to worry," said Nakago, "I said that when we are attacked by demons on the road, will your first thought be of Boushin, or of keeping the Suzaku no miko alive?"

There was a very tense silence, broken finally by Miaka, who cleared her throat rather angrily.

"I don't think this conversation is appropriate at all," she said. "And I'm perfectly capable of keeping myself alive, thankyouverymuch –"

"Perhaps there is a reason the gods don't often choose women for seishi," said Nakago, not even glancing in Miaka's direction. As though coming to a decision, he stood up, swept his cloak off the rack, and donned it with a kind of casual, indifferent grace. "Priorities, Empress of Konan. Think about it."

And before Miaka had a chance to yell after his retreating back – before she even had time to internalize that he was _leaving, _Nakago had swept out of the inn.

Fuming, Miaka hurried over to the window and watched him head up the street. "He _might_ have left someone to _guard_ us here!" she seethed. If Nakago sensed her at the window, he gave no sign; he continued to walk steadily and purposefully toward the marketplace.

She heard a noise from behind her. At first she thought Nuriko was agreeing with her. Then she turned around and realized –

Nuriko was laughing.

Her back was hunched and her elbows were on the table and her shoulders were shaking and she was _laughing_; tears of mirth were streaming down her face and into her empty porridge bowl.

"He must _really _care about you," she said.

_Sure, whatever _that_ meant._ Nuriko was hysterical, and it was clearly all Nakago's fault. "I think you need a cup of tea," said Miaka, and she went to the fireplace and made Nuriko a cup of tea.

Thankfully, Nuriko had calmed down by the time Miaka came back with the steaming mug. The Empress sipped the tea, almost thoughtfully, although once or twice Miaka had to remind her friend to blow on it so as not to burn herself.

"Tasuki really ought to have been chosen for this position," she said finally. "Not me." Her lip curled. "He _wants_ to go. He's going to insist on coming anyway, you know – to 'keep an eye on things'. I belong here."

She stared morosely into her tea for a moment.

"But the bastard's right, in the end. I mean, I was born to be seishi, and seishi I shall be. Duty calls, and all that. And, between you and me, I wouldn't trust this mission to Tasuki. He'd make a mess of it somehow. No, you need someone to look after you lot. Stop you from almost drowning, make sure you dress right, start a betting pool on how many times Tasuki will be sick before we reach this mysterious lake that only Nakago knows how to reach –"

"It's the lake where he grew up," said Miaka.

"Ah," said Nuriko. She took a sip of tea and looked, thoughtfully, at Miaka.

"Not," said Miaka, "that he told me so himself. That is, I only know because I happened to see a memory that I wasn't supposed to see –"

She broke off, realizing that she was only digging herself deeper, and glared at her hands for a moment, before slowly and deliberately pouring herself some tea.

"What did Taiitsukun mean when she told Nakago, _'Mind that poison you're carrying'_?" Nuriko said, after a moment.

"Oh," said Miaka offhandedly, setting down her teacup. "Nakago's been poisoned by slow-acting kudoku. So if we don't reach this place in a week and a half, really bad things are going to start happening."

"Ah," said Nuriko again.

"Yeah," said Miaka.

She took another sip of tea.

-v-

The others filtered slowly back into the inn. First Kaen returned, looking confused when she realized that almost no one else was there. Fortunately, the uncomfortable silence that accompanied her arrival was broken when Tasuki and Subaru arrived with supplies (they had apparently made contact in the marketplace). Nakago showed up next, hands so innocently empty that Miaka wondered what he could _possibly _have been up to; her eyes searched for suspicious lumps in his pockets but she remained bewildered. Nakago noticed her staring and caught her eye. She flushed and turned away so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

Suboshi was the next to filter in, looking thoroughly sulky and out of temper. Miaka wondered if he had actually been following Kaen, as Nakago wanted.

That left Amiboshi and Tokaki, who had had the most important mission of all. Miaka twiddled her thumbs and waited, and then grew bored and challenged Tasuki to a game of 'rock, paper, scissors' – after which she found herself explaining the concept of 'rock, paper, scissors' to Tasuki and Nuriko, who agreed that it was the oddest game they had ever heard of.

At last, just as Miaka was trying to think up an argument to Tasuki's heated "But parchment can't crush rock, 'cause, ya know, pretty much nothing can conquer a good solid chunk o' rock, but I've seen parchments messed up by having rocks chucked _through_ them –" the door to the inn opened, and Amiboshi and Tokaki and a third, cloaked figure entered.

"Well?" said Nuriko, pinching Tasuki's lips together to cut him off mid-sentence and turning around.

The cloaked figure removed his hood and turned into Hotohori. "I'm surprised you don't recognize my disguises," said Hotohori, as Nuriko gave a joyful cry. "How long have we been married, again?"

"I take it you were successful," Nakago said to Amiboshi.

"One ship, fully provisioned, and we need to leave _now._ The harbor's a mess, it's going to be worse in an hour, everyone's trying to get out of Eiyou –"

Nuriko was crying. "Look after Boushin," she said. "_Try_ not to die."

"Indeed," said Nakago drily. "It would be a pity if I returned to find you incapable of fulfilling our agreement."

Miaka opened her mouth, preparing to shout at him; surely _now_ was _not_ the time to be reminding _anyone_ of that particular bargain.

"Likewise," said Hotohori, with a perfectly straight face.

The words she had been preparing to utter died on Miaka's lips. _Had they actually just been civil to each other? _She closed her mouth with a snap and stood staring, as Hotohori gently steered Nuriko away from the others.

She might have remained in that position for a couple of minutes, had not Nakago turned toward her with raised eyebrow, and murmured:

"Do you intend to dawdle _all_ day, Suzaku no miko?"

"I _wasn't_ dawdling!" she said, and then realized that most of the others – Hotohori and Nuriko excluded – were already outside the inn. With a muffled oath, Miaka turned to follow Nakago, grumbling under her breath as she hurried to keep up with his longer strides.

Despite the commotion, Miaka could not help but sneak covert looks toward Nakago as she trailed him and the other seishi up the street toward the wharf. She did not know how or when, but something had changed between them. She and Nakago had been enemies before, perhaps reluctant allies, if she was being generous. Something was different now. Were they friends? She hesitated over this characterization. He was like no other friend she had ever encountered. They had a very special relationship, she and Nakago. It involved a lot of name-calling on her part, disdainful sarcasm on his. He had possession of two secrets she had told no one else. The first was the fact that she had sealed Suzaku; the second, the secret of Tamahome's death. Strangely, it did not frighten Miaka that Nakago knew so much. At some point during their weeks of travel, she had come to trust him.

_That_ frightened her.

He had been such a monster in the Shijintenchisho that Miaka would have been delighted to see him struck by lightning. His cruelty had led to the death of half her seishi and emotionally ravaged her best friend.

But regardless of what Tasuki thought, Nakago was different now. Now, Nakago was a combination of Shijintenchisho Nakago and this world's Ayuru. Ayuru's influence must have impacted him strongly, she thought.

(It did not ever occur to Miaka that she might have contributed to the change in Nakago's behavior as well).

"Do we _hafta_ take this damn boat?"

Nuriko, who had caught up to them by that point and was in noticeably better spirits, grabbed Tasuki by the collar and dragged him toward the quay.

"Look at the nice, pretty ocean!" she said cheerfully. "Look at the big, rolling waves!"

"Ouch, Nuriko, get _off!_ Do ya wanna make me sick before I even get _on board_?"

It was like the last time they had set sail. Back then, it had been Tamahome abusing Tasuki, and Tasuki had half drowned before someone stopped laughing long enough to pull him out of the wharf.

Strangely, the thought of Tamahome did not hurt as much as it had yesterday. She smiled, a bit sadly, shaking herself as she hurried up the gangplank behind the others. It all seemed so very long ago.

-v-

Nakago watched the miko as she strode up the gangplank. Something was different about her, as though a dark burden had lifted from her shoulders. She was not happy, but she was no longer the broken shell she had been after the fall of her house. She had faced that demon and won, had pulled the torn pieces of herself back together enough to stand, calm and determined, on the deck of the ship.

She caught his eyes for a moment, and then flushed and turned away, back towards the bow of the ship. She began chattering with Subaru, who replied with equanimity. Nakago watched them for a moment before his eyes drifted.

Kaen followed them onto the ship. Her chi was odd – Nakago's eyes narrowed – a mixture of alert watchfulness, pensiveness, and fear.

Suboshi who was helping shift supplies on board, did not even look up at Nakago's approach. _His_ aura was its characteristic mixture of insolence and impatience and thinly-disguised irritation; it put Nakago in mind of a dynamite field. It would have troubled Nakago, had he not had every confidence in his ability to subdue Suboshi, were the dynamite ever to combust –

"Well?" said Nakago calmly.

"What do you mean, 'well'? I followed her, just like you said, but she was just fine; she didn't even go to the marketplace, just went up the road a little ways and stopped when she got to a big burnt space! Probably just wanted to get away from all the idiots chattering. So lay off."

Nakago watched the boy lift a box that a boy of his size ought not have been able to lift; and Suboshi ascended the gangplank after Kaen. Nakago waited a moment before following.

Sailors shouted to each other, and the captain shouted at all of them. Nakago watched as they weighed anchor, tracked the swell of the sails as wind filled them. A naughty breeze blew over the ship, causing it to buck. On the opposite side of the deck, the bandit was already crouched over the railing, miserable.

Nakago set his gaze toward the bow of the ship. His eyes narrowed.

He was going home.

* * *

**Author's note: **Info dump much?

Apologies for the delay. I had hoped to have this chapter out LAST week. Unfortunately, it was a week of Major Decisions concerning med school, which led to the onset of Major Writer's Block. But all that's behind us now, and I'm very happy about where I'm going, and life is good!

Anyway, I want to thank _alex, irukanomiko, Nile1283 (x2), megumisakura, tohru78, Helena, _and _Desert Renaissance_ for your reviews for the last chapter! You guys are the best! Virtual cookies for all! ^_^

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. Is there going to be a sequel to this story?**

Very likely not, although I might be prevailed upon to write a couple very short sequels tying up loose ends from this world (I have ideas for them anyway). Any additional stories would be tacked on to the end of this fic, so you wouldn't have to go hunting for them on this page as long as you kept this story on your alerts. But the current plan is to leave this story in a good enough place that large sequels won't be necessary.

**2. Since it is natural for Nakago to use big words, I just wonder how Miaka keeps up with it and understands them...?**

Because this story is full of such plot holes? Heheh! Actually, though, I think it's possible to get the gist of what someone is saying when one knows a critical mass of vocabulary, even if one doesn't know ALL the words, by guessing. I think this is sort of how I (and maybe other people?) learned to read. I never had the patience to look up words in a dictionary while I was reading so I just guessed the words' meanings and got a general sense of what they meant by how they were used. Of course occasionally this would lead to some unfortunate mistakes when I actually tried to use them in conversation…

**3. How did they mess up? **

Hopefully that was explained in this chapter!

**4. Tasuki's speech pattern bothered me. Too many 'ye's and not enough 'ya's.**

Oops. Yes. I do see what you mean. And I willll fix that going forward. Hehehe.

**5. I must admit the style of writing gets a little bit like whip-lash. I know you are experimenting, but there should also be some continuity between styles.**

I know! – winces – I'm sorry! I'm working on it!

Also, Nile, I really like your Yui explanation! It definitely fits well.

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

1. Did Taiitsukun's explanation feel too much like an author cop-out? XD

2. What is your favorite kind of cookie?

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize probably belongs to Yuu Watase and not to me.


	46. Sailing a restless sea I

…

** XLV **

**Sailing a restless sea (I)**

…

Keisuke was finally asleep. Yui and Tetsuya could hear his snores emanating from the bedroom on the floor above. Tetsuya was half-asleep too, curled up next to her on the sofa. His legs were tucked against his chest; a dolphin-shaped pillow rested on top of his knees, and his head was half-buried inside it. A casual observer would have thought he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Yui knew – from the previous times he had spent napping during his stay in the Hongo household – that Tetsuya just liked to sleep that way. It was almost adorable, really.

Chuckling quietly, Yui turned back to the book. Her eyes were starting to cross – it was nearly three in the morning – but she didn't want to wake Tetsuya up just yet to hand the book over to him. She would let him sleep a little more first. She smoothed the page before her, watching as ink filled the empty space that her fingers had just occupied.

Taiitsukun was berating Miaka. She had done something wrong again – summoning the gods in the wrong place. Yui found herself taking Miaka's side. After all, her friend had only received the mirror yesterday, and her day had been absurdly action-packed. When would Miaka have had _time_ to investigate the mirror? It seemed a wee bit unreasonable of Taiitsukun to have ordered the message sent along in that manner.

Yui wondered if the strain associated with their present situation was making it harder for the sage to think logically. It worried her. If even Taiitsukun did not have a full grasp of the trouble that book-world was in, what could that mean for Miaka?

Beside her, Tetsuya let out a soft snore. His sunglasses, resting currently on the top of his head, were slowly sliding askew. Yui removed these and placed them on the end table; then she turned, quickly, back to the book.

Taiitsukun was telling Miaka about the place where they _ought_ to have summoned the gods. _And the sage of Mt. Taikyoku described the lake, a place of great power, the place where the demon lord Tenkou entered the Universe of the Four Gods. And Taiitsukun decreed that in order to seal Tenkou, the gods must be summoned at the water's edge._

Yui reread the paragraph, tamping down a yawn.

… _the place where the demon lord Tenkou entered the Universe of the Four Gods… _

… _entered the Universe…_

What did it mean, Yui wondered drowsily, that Tenkou had _entered_ the Universe of the Four Gods?

Had the Book meant '_entered'_ in a euphemistic sense? As in,Tenkou entered the world as a baby, by virtue of being born?

Or had the Book just used _'entered'_ in an entirely different capacity?

All the priestesses had entered the Shijintenchisho from Earth. It was not too great a stretch to imagine others crossing the boundary between worlds as well. Could Tenkou have entered the Shijintenchisho from another country?

Another _world_?

Suddenly wide awake, Yui sat bolt upright. An idea was coming to her. It was a crazy idea – so crazy, so _impossible_, that it just might be true.

"Tetsuya…" she said slowly, shaking his shoulder gently. "Wake up."

"Wha?" said Tetsuya, shaking his head sleepily. "Whuzzgoingon?"

Yui stared at him. "I need to know. How hard would it be to find out if someone in the book is originally from our world?"

Tetsuya blinked sleep from his eyes. He stared at her blearily. "Who?"

Yui took a deep breath. "Tenkou," she said quietly.

-v-

For someone who had grown accustomed to a high degree of daily chaos, the relative quiet during the first two days at sea was almost unnerving. The occupants of the ship moved quickly and grimly about their business. The lack of space on board might have provoked peoples' tempers, but the knowledge of the demon invasion of Eiyou was enough to put a damper on even the most buoyant of spirits. Everyone seemed much too solemn to fight. Tasuki, chief instigator of all things contentious, might have been the exception to the rule – except he was below decks, seasick and bedridden and generally miserable.

For the first day, Miaka almost relished the relative peace.

It was not until after breakfast on the morning of the second day that she realized she was bored out of her mind.

She decided to use her unusual helping of free time to catch up with Amiboshi. Barring their brief conversation at the palace in Eiyou the day after his arrival, they had not really talked since his return. She still had no idea how Suboshi had found him, or what had happened during his journey to the capitol in the company of Lord Sadao.

But Amiboshi was not on deck when Miaka went to look for him – nor was he in the bunks – nor in the mess hall with Subaru. She spent what felt like a ridiculous amount of time searching for him (_really_, their ship was not that big!) and was about to give up, when she happened to spot him, perched many lengths above her on one of the sails, watching the water.

Miaka's heart leapt in her throat.

"Come down from there!" she shouted. "Do you want to break your neck?"

Amiboshi's eyes caught hers. He smiled. Before she knew what he was doing, he had raised the flute to his lips and stood upright on the beam that supported the high sail. Then he jumped.

Miaka gasped. She was about to yell for help, when the eerie music from his flute reached her ears, and she saw – even suspended in midair – he was playing. He seemed to become almost weightless for a moment; then he drifted slowly onto deck.

"Show-off," she grumbled, stepping back so that he could have a clear landing. "Is _that_ where you've been all morning? Up on the sail?"

"It's surprisingly pleasant," he said. "One can practice without interruptions, or simply cloud-gaze."

"I think I'll stay down here, thanks all the same."

"I do seem to recall that you are rather accident-prone," Amiboshi said. He sidestepped her poorly-aimed smack, a grin tugging at his lips. "Did you call me down from my hiding spot just to abuse me, or did you want something in particular?"

"Er – I was hoping you would tell me how you ended up separated from Suboshi – in this world, I mean. You were in Hokkan when Suboshi found you," Miaka said, shrugging. "I figured you must have had some interesting adventures…"

She tried to sound nonchalant, but the reality was that she was desperate for company at this point. Tasuki, of course, was cot-bound, ill, and miserable. Out of loyalty and a lingering, misplaced sense of guilt, Miaka had stayed near him the previous morning, until he had practically snarled at her to leave him bloody well alone (with a few additional expletives). Nuriko was hardly any better, surly and quiet, her mind clearly on Eiyou, Hotohori, and Boushin. All Miaka's attempts at optimism had been sharply rebuffed. Miaka hardly knew Suboshi; Subaru was nice, but often busy in the mess hall. Kaen had effectively vanished as soon as they set sail. And Nakago –

Ever they had left Eiyou, Nakago was often to be seen staring out over the water, almost contemplatively. Just _what_ he was contemplating, Miaka had no idea. For all she knew, he was hatching some nefarious plot to obtain godhood, but perhaps he was tracking their progress, or else pondering the kudoku – really, what normal person could hope to fathom the inner workings of Nakago's twisted mind?

She had given him a wide berth thus far, more (she told herself firmly) for his benefit than for her own. She certainly did not feel _awkward_ around him – that would be _silly_, especially since she'd done nothing wrong in the first place. But she was sure he didn't want to be bothered. He had to be unsettled by the location of the summoning – how could he not be, when it was his former home? – and it would be _wrong_ to bother him now. Best wait for him to say something to _her_; that was the way to do things.

And so, Miaka had managed to rationalize to herself that talking to Nakago was Out Of The Question – much to her secret relief.

And, since the others seemed perfectly capable of keeping themselves occupied, that meant the only one left to talk to was Amiboshi.

Fortunately, Amiboshi seemed eager and willing to talk to her. Perhaps he was almost as bored as she; or perhaps he had other reasons for enjoying her company. At any rate, he shouldered his flute cheerfully, and suggested they head over to the mess hall for lunch.

"There's actually not all _that_ much to tell," he said lightly, in response to the question she had asked him about his separation from Suboshi in this world. "Suboshi lied about his age and ended up in the Kutou army when he was thirteen, three years ago. He wanted me to join, too, but army life didn't really agree with me, so we split up. I went to Hokkan as a traveling musician to earn my fortune, just like Suboshi was earning his. Hokkan is friendlier to its musicians than Kutou, you see. Ah, here's Subaru with lunch."

Miaka never needed an excuse to eat more food, and for a time, she was quite well distracted.

After lunch, when they had finally finished helping Subaru clear out the dishes, Amiboshi suggested they find a practical means of amusement. He had made acquaintance with the captain, who happened to own a board for a game whose name Miaka didn't recognize – but after seeing it, she realized that this game must be the feudal equivalent of _Go_. And so, they played a few very lively rounds in the middle of the mess-hall, with Subaru and several of the sailors looking on. Amiboshi beat Miaka thoroughly on the first two games, and then must have felt badly, since he had made so many foolish errors on the third game that she could probably have won with her eyes closed.

Suboshi appeared towards the end of the third game, looking so grim that Miaka – who had been about to remove her most recent winnings – stopped with one hand poised over the game board. Amiboshi did not seem perturbed. "Join us," he said cheerfully, and – to Miaka's surprise – Suboshi actually complied and sat down beside him.

"You two can play," Miaka said, handing over her pieces to the newly arrived twin and regarding the pair of them thoughtfully.

Barring the council meeting two days ago, she had seen the twins together only once before, during a battle just outside Sairou, with Tomo. Now that they were side by side, Miaka marveled at how _different_ Amiboshi's personality was from his twin's. Amiboshi was considerate, careful, and deliberate about his moves; Suboshi took risks that brought great windfalls when they worked but led nearly to disaster when they didn't. He scowled when Amiboshi placed the winning piece and demanded another game. Amiboshi was tranquil, treating his brother with patience.

Miaka did not know how she felt about Suboshi. In her mind, he was an unstable presence, the equivalent of a human minefield. It was hard to predict _what_ would set him off, and once you'd managed to trigger an explosion – well.

She was not entirely certain why Suboshi was even on board. She suspected he had come to protect his brother; he certainly had _not _come aboard out of loyalty to _her._ She had the distinct and unsettling feeling that Suboshi harbored a strong and utterly unwavering dislike of her.

But Suboshi had done nothing yet, and with Amiboshi's calming influence, Miaka believed there was every chance that he might remain well-behaved. This reassuring thought carried her through her own game with Suboshi, which spanned the next hour. (It helped that Amiboshi was very free in his offers of suggestions for moves). Slowly, Miaka began to relax, enough – at least – to ask Suboshi something she had been wondering since he had rejoined them in Konan:

"What happened after you left the palace?"

Had Suboshi known the sorts of thoughts that were going through Miaka's head at that moment, he would have been indignant – if not outraged. Suboshi did not think of himself as a minefield, or a cannon – or any other sort of explosive device. His state of perpetual surliness was common to him; indeed, he would have felt naked and exposed without it. He was quick to react, but you _had_ to be quick to react to be a soldier, and he had been fighting practically since he could walk.

But Miaka was not wrong in believing that Suboshi disliked her. Miaka grated on Suboshi's nerves in a way that no other woman did. Everything about her – from her ready smile to her forcedly bright questions – made Suboshi want to scowl.

"I found Amiboshi in Hokkan," Suboshi said, and he took perverse delight in sweeping a third of Miaka's pieces off the game board. "And we traveled to Konan."

"There must be more to it than _that_," she said.

_Why is she so _curious_? _Suboshi wondered. He folded his arms. "No," he said coldly. "I just found him."

"Oh," said Miaka. Her bright smile faded a little. It was hard to be sunny when the person you were playing _Go _with looked so very ominous.

She tried very hard not to think about the fact that Suboshi had tried to kill her in a previous life.

She tried _especially _hard not to think of the fate of Tamahome's family.

"Not there," Amiboshi cautioned Miaka, as she reached absently for the nearest white piece, "There's another move you can make, a much better one."

"Thanks," said Miaka, glancing down at the board again. She glanced at Suboshi. "Um. But it must have been hard to find him, if you had no idea where he was!"

"I don't know," said Suboshi noncommittally. "Maybe I just got lucky. It didn't take me that long to find him at all." He sighed loudly. "I had my memories of Hokkan to go by, for all the good _those _were. I thought he would surely be close to _that_ _village _– except he was nowhere _near_ there, and I wasted _two days_ just knocking on doors –"

"Suboshi," said Amiboshi, shaking his head, "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Shut up."

"Huh? Well, deciding that I must be in Makan just because that's where I ended up in the Shijintenchisho was also a little silly. But I meant that your last move was incredibly stupid. Now, Miaka, you should use this to your advantage. If you put a piece _here_ – "

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Suboshi demanded, staring at the gaping space where his pieces had been.

"Calm down, Suboshi!" Amiboshi said, laughing. "There's an easy enough move you can do after this, to get at least at much territory as you lost."

Miaka turned to Suboshi and inclined her head ever-so-slightly in Amiboshi's direction.

Suboshi scowled at her, one eyebrow raised. Suboshi was at this point annoyed – annoyed by Miaka's questions, annoyed by Amiboshi's constant interference in the game, annoyed by the general ennui that seemed to have engulfed the ship. He was too annoyed to spend the energy deciphering what Miaka wanted. He regarded Miaka warily, as though she was the carrier of a highly contagious infectious disease. Miaka glared at him and jerked her head in Amiboshi's direction again and wiggled her fingers. This was supposed to represent tickling, but the motion utterly baffled Suboshi, who continued to stare at her with ill-concealed dislike.

"I think," Miaka said pleasantly, "someone's interfered in this game long enough. Don't you?"

And she jerked her head at Amiboshi again.

Comprehension dawned on Suboshi, mingled with scorn. _Oh really, _Suboshi thought, _how _childish, _does she actually expect me to gang up on my brother and – _And then he looked at Amiboshi, who was still busily and annoyingly plotting new moves, shrugged, and thought, _All right._

Amiboshi said, "I don't see why –"

That was as far as he got before they clobbered him. Miaka tackled the arm he was using to rearrange the game board; Suboshi's shoulder met Amiboshi's chest, hard enough to topple him and his chair onto the ground. The three of them ended up sprawled on the floor, gasping for air.

Miaka was laughing. She thought for sure that she had felt a connection of some kind with Suboshi, or at least that they were on better terms now than they had been before.

Suboshi harbored no such illusions as to the nature of their relationship. Granted, the small tussle had been almost fun. It had felt good to actually do something that was almost like fighting for a change – sailing was so _monotonous_. And the surprise on his brother's face had been amusing.

But he still did not like the Suzaku no miko.

"That is the last time," Amiboshi said, in as dignified a tone as he could manage from his position half-under his brother, "that I attempt to give any of you friendly advice."

"I don't see how it can be called giving advice when you're playing the entire game by yourself," Suboshi said, straightening.

Miaka tried to straighten up, too, but she was still on top of Amiboshi, and when she tried to get up she realized that her lower body was tangled up with the chair they had just knocked over. She went down again abruptly, landing on Amiboshi's chest with a surprised "Ouch!"

"I think I should be the one saying that!" Amiboshi wheezed. Guiltily, Miaka removed her elbows from his middle. "You _are_ still accident-prone," Amiboshi said, as though a long-standing question had just been resolved. "I rest my case."

"Indeed," said a cool voice from one end of the kitchen. "The Suzaku no miko is a walking magnet for accidents of a most catastrophic nature. I am astonished it has taken you so long to arrive at this conclusion."

Unlike the other three, Nakago was immaculate. He regarded them with cold humor from his position in the entranceway. It was entirely unclear how long he had been spying on them – though Miaka (with her usual fatalistic attitude) instantly assumed that he had seen the entire debacle.

"Bastard," Miaka said, struggling to get to her feet without stabbing Amiboshi in the stomach with her elbows and toppling again, this time catching her foot on Amiboshi's leg. "The _chair_," she said dramatically, "was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You have astonishingly poor luck with chairs. Furniture. Rocks, inclines, cliff faces, portions of the human anatomy." Miaka saw his eyes rake coldly over her and Amiboshi and felt a flush build in her cheeks, not a subtle flush but a flaming red. "It amazes me that others find such behavior tolerable, and that such unrehearsed clumsiness results in so fascinating an array of compromising situations."

Miaka opened her mouth to shout (although she hadn't really thought much about what to say apart from some choice swears interspersed with a well-placed '_You jerk!_'). Before she could, Amiboshi rose to his feet and said, in a serious, polite voice that was nonetheless chilly:

"What are you implying?"

Amiboshi spoke quietly, but Miaka noticed the tenseness in his jaw, and the set of his eyes belied how he was feeling. She stared between the two men in confusion. Nakago appeared perfectly at ease, leaning comfortably against the wall.

And he was smiling. "The need for companionship following loss is easy to exploit," he said. "I thought you could use the _reminder_."

She saw Amiboshi's jaw tense. "You're one to talk," he said sharply, and his voice had lost all its frigid politeness. Now he looked really angry. Miaka was surprised. Suboshi was supposed to be the volatile one, she thought, _not_ Amiboshi; and yet Suboshi watched the proceedings with detached scorn.

Nakago's lip curled. "Perhaps I am," he said cryptically. "Good day."

He left, Amiboshi staring after his retreating back, Miaka staring contemplatively at Amiboshi. Suboshi stared at no one but glared at the ceiling. For a long moment, nobody said a word.

"I guess we should probably clean this up," Amiboshi said finally, gesturing guiltily toward the table, which looked like it had been the victim of a small kamikaze strike.

"What did Nakago mean?" said Miaka, as she began folding the game-board back into its box. "Did _any_ part of what just happened make sense to you?"

"He was just scolding us for roughhousing." Amiboshi would not meet her eyes. "Suboshi, would you help me with this table? It's shifted a few inches –"

"Whatever he said made you upset," Miaka prodded, unwilling give up. She reached down to scoop up a handful of glass pieces from the floor and then straightened –

– to find Suboshi glaring at her, anger in his eyes, a hard line to his mouth. The ire in his expression was so strong that the sheer force of it caused Miaka to take a step backward.

"How stupid are you?" he said, derision in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Miaka asked slowly.

She had thought they were on good terms a moment before; the hostility that was radiating from him now was like a dash of cold water straight to the face. Light, the remnants of the afternoon sun, played across Suboshi's hair and face. His eyes trapped the light. To Miaka, it seemed for a moment like Suboshi's eyes were like twin flames, suddenly sprung ablaze.

"Nakago," Suboshi said scornfully, "was implying that Amiboshi was taking advantage of you, like he did when he gave you the forgetfulness potion in the Shijintenchisho."

" – Suboshi –" Amiboshi said helplessly.

"He also thinks that you're weak as well as stupid –"

Miaka flushed.

"– and that you were acting clumsy just now to get my brother's attention."

"Suboshi, will you _shut up!_"

Sometimes the universe complements its love of Murphy's law with a delicious sense of irony. As Suboshi reached the word 'clumsy', Miaka managed to lose her grip on the chair she was in the act of picking up. For the second time that day she found herself in a damaging run-in with furniture, and the next ten seconds were spent grimacing and clutching her foot, fighting not to yelp with pain.

She was quite aware that this wasn't helping her case very much.

When she was finally able to feel her toes again, she straightened up. Amiboshi – it was he who had been shouting earlier – was talking to his brother in a low, furious undertone. Miaka – who had decided to hide her embarrassment by cleaning the floor – could not catch what he was saying. But Miaka heard a loud "Fine!" escape Suboshi's mouth as she busily shoveled game-pieces back into their carrying case, and the next moment, with one final, frighteningly intense _Look_ that bespoke disgust or hatred or something more awful, Amiboshi's twin was striding from the room, leaving Miaka and Amiboshi together.

Alone.

Well this was _awkward_.

"I'm sorry," Amiboshi said, in tones of mild discomfort. "He – erm. Gets like this sometimes. We haven't been on very good terms for awhile now, and – well. He had no right to be so harsh."

_Haven't been on very good terms…?_

"It's all right," said Miaka. "I wanted to know the truth – I mean, I wanted to know what Nakago meant earlier. It's _not_ the truth at all, you know – I _wasn't_ trying to attract attention –"

She was well aware that her face was slowly starting to resemble a ripe tomato. _Curse_ Nakago! Nakago _thrived_ on discord – he enjoyed making her life as miserable as possible – and it was Entirely His Fault that she was currently staring at Amiboshi, her face growing steadily redder. How _dare_ he suggest that Miaka was trying to draw attention to herself, when Tamahome had barely been dead for two months? How could he even _think_ that Amiboshi would try and take advantage of her? Their friendship was purely innocent; did he have to sully it just because he liked to play games?

"I think I'd better –" she began, awkwardly beckoning towards the door.

"No, wait!" Amiboshi said, putting a hand on her wrist before she could go. "Look, I wasn't trying to take advantage of T –" He blinked. "– er – your situation, either."

Amiboshi was flushing. He was nearly as embarrassed as Miaka, though for rather different reasons. He was used to being judged on his brother's actions – that was what happened when you had a twin who was identical to you in appearance, people just _assumed _that the two of you were practically the same person – and it did not occur to Amiboshi that Miaka was not the type to judge so shallowly. And he was acutely aware that the warning he had just received from Nakago hit rather closer to home than Amiboshi would have liked. He would _never_ consciously plot to take advantage of Miaka's vulnerability in the aftermath of Tamahome's death – but Miaka was pretty and generous and forgiving, everything he could want in a wife, and he was undeniably attracted to her. He had loved her in the Shijintenchisho, and that hadn't really changed.

"Why don't we just forget about this?" he said, extending a hand. "Pretend it never happened."

He regarded her earnestly.

"All right." Miaka felt enormously relieved. She _really _hadn't relished the thought of spending the rest of the trip with a sick and miserable Tasuki.

But even as she grinned at Amiboshi, even as she took his hand and allowed him to help her up off the floor, the memory flashed through her mind of a different pair of eyes, hate-filled and glaring and filled with fire.

Something was seriously troubling Suboshi, and Miaka wondered what it was.

-v-

If someone had told Suboshi of the thoughts which were, at that moment, going through the minds of his brother and the Suzaku no miko, his only thought might have been regret at not remaining in the mess-hall long enough to wreak more havoc between the two of them.

Really, it was sickening, the way they fawned over each other. Just when he had thought Suboshi believed he was getting Amiboshi back, Amiboshi decided his time was more valuably spent with the miko.

Well, Suboshi did not need to spend his time playing the pathetic dog, waiting for scraps of affection at his brother's table. It was bound to happen someday – they could not marry each other, after all – and after his own infatuation with Yui, he would look stupid if he acted jealous and unreasonable now.

But the Suzaku no miko! Had his brother lost his senses, and his taste?

She was not bad-looking – this he could admit, although grudgingly. She had almost grown into herself. This was not something Suboshi, who was practically her age and still struggling through his own maturation, could really define, but even he could sense that the year spent in this world had seen a deep alteration in her appearance.

But she smiled too much; she did not comport herself at all like a lady; she had no dignity (last night was fair proof of that); she smiled too much; she treated everyone far too affectionately; she ate like a horse; she was so loud; and _she smiled too much!_

Suboshi leapt off the ladder and slammed his fist against the wall of the second level, fuming silently.

What was there to be pleased about in this useless world, anyway? If Tenkou didn't succeed in corrupting it, then there would still be greed, still be illness, and bloodshed, and pain. People would still die and starve and suffer. The Suzaku no Miko was an idiot. She might think she understood unhappiness, but the lie was revealed by her smile!

"Which way to the Suzaku no miko's quarters?" he asked a passing sailor in tones of forced politeness.

The sailor shrugged and started up the ladder.

Suboshi turned away, disgusted. His eyes perused the row of bunks. He would figure out where she was staying eventually – there was only so much space on board a ship this size – and he would leave her a nice _gift_ to make her day that much more interesting. He didn't know quite what he would do yet, only that it would be memorable and _thoroughly_ unpleasant.

"Sir. Um. Suboshi."

The voice was timid, a little afraid.

Suboshi turned.

"I know w-where the Suzaku no miko is staying," said Kaen softly. "Why do you want to know? W-what are you doing?"

Some of the anger drained out of Suboshi then. "Just causing trouble," he said, kicking his foot against the floor in the kind of half-ashamed manner he might have used when speaking to Soi in the Shijintenchisho. He peered at Kaen from beneath his long bangs.

It was the first time in this world that Suboshi had exchanged words with the woman who had once been Soi. Though he had followed her two days ago, they had not spoken. He doubted Kaen even knew she had been followed.

Suboshi replayed his most recent words in his mind. _Just causing trouble. _Soi, well-acquainted with Suboshi's old trouble-making ways, would have glanced at him sharply, or else folded her arms and let out a loud sigh.

Kaen just said, "Oh."

It was painful to see Soi – one of three people Suboshi had ever actually liked – reduced to this. This woman had Soi's body, but her demeanor was so unlike Soi's that it was all Suboshi could do to keep from shaking her.

"Is Soi really dead then?" he asked casually.

Kaen flinched. "She – she hasn't been back since Miaka healed me." Her mouth hardened. "And she's not _coming_ back."

"Right. I see."

Everything came back, Suboshi thought coldly, to _her_ – to the stupid, selfish girl who called herself Suzaku no miko. She had taken away Yui, and his brother. And now, it seemed, she had taken Soi, as well.

"Soi liked you," Kaen said. "I – I'm not really sure why, after some of the things you – but I know she _did_; I have all her memories, you know." She regarded him warily. "Since you wanted to know, the priestess is staying in the main cabin, on the deck. I'm supposed to be staying there, too, but it was too – confining. Goodbye."

"Wait –"

But Kaen was already hurrying around the corner, and by the time he reached it, she was out of sight. Frowning, Suboshi turned and slowly began making for the ladder to the main deck.

Some of his anger had faded by the time he reached the cabin, but it flared up red and hot again when he saw the miko's rooms. _We have to sleep amidst the rats and _she_ gets this sort of luxury?_

Perhaps this was unjust – decorum of the day _did _call for the women aboard a vessel to have separate quarters, and most of the opulence was the Empress' doing and not Miaka's – but Suboshi was too riled up at this point to draw distinctions. The fact remained that the ship's cabin was much finer than the situation below decks. The four woman slept on beds, for a start.

He could guess which bed was the Empress' from the décor; powders and perfumes, scattered across the bed, a pile of dresses that began neatly stacked and then transformed into an amorphous mess toward the top, a hairbrush in the shape of a conch, and a most luxurious coverlet.

One bed was not slept on; Suboshi guessed that bed was Kaen's.

Of the two that remained, only one was neatly folded. The other was messy, and there were clothes and various other items scattered in haphazard piles around it. Suboshi decided the folded bed must be Subaru's. Which meant that the messy bed belonged to the Suzaku no Miko.

He perused it for a moment, pondering his next move. As his eyes roved across the disarray, a glint of gold, peeking out from beneath the place where the mattress met the cabin floor, caught Suboshi's eye, Without thinking Suboshi drew closer and slid his hand between mattress and floor. His fingers met cool metal, which he drew towards him.

"You really ought to be more careful about your hiding spots, Suzaku no miko," he whispered, eyeing the sword of Hong-Nan with satisfaction. Long, gilt-trimmed, and sparkling, no doubt worth more than any other weapon aboard this boat.

An idea flitted into Suboshi's mind, light and quick as a hummingbird's touch. His lips drew back in a smirk that was not really pleasant.

Suboshi wore a sword, and – though not as beautiful – it was of similar length and weight to this one. Its scabbard was roughly identical in size to the scabbard of the Suzaku sword. It would be simple enough to exchange that sword for the Emperor's and teach the Suzaku no miko a lesson. He had no intentions of keeping it permanently – in his heart, Suboshi did not really want their mission to fail, not when the lives of him and his brother depended on it. But the miko would have such a fright. She would _deserve_ it, too, for being so foolish as to leave her sword in such vulnerable territory. Why, the cabin door had not even been locked!

If Suboshi was bothered by the disrespect he was showing as he lifted the beautifully wrought sword of Konan and placed it in his own, beaten leather scabbard, he tried not to show it. After all, the sword was from Konan, and he certainly owed that country no allegiance.

He had just finished switching the blades when he heard footsteps outside the room. Quickly, he adjusted his tunic, so that the entering woman would not see the gleam of gold at his waist.

It was not Miaka who entered, but the Empress of Konan. "Suboshi," she said, a trifle sharply – though she sounded much too tired to be truly angry. "You really shouldn't be in here, you know. What are you doing?"

"I was –" Suboshi's eyes fell upon Kaen's unused bed. "I was waiting for Kaen."

Nuriko's eyes softened. "I'm afraid I haven't seen Kaen once since we set sail. She didn't even come here last night to sleep. You'll have more luck looking below-decks – I suspect the poor girl's hiding out there. We probably scare her."

"All right," said Suboshi. "I'll try that." And, because he was in a good mood and because the Empress had never really done him any harm that he could think of, he muttered a hurried, "Thanks," as he swept past her and out of the cabin.

Once outside, he lifted the covering protection of his tunic to admire the hilt of his prize, watching the glimmer within the red stone on the pommel as it picked up light from the sea and the sky. He could already imagine the shriek of horror the miko would utter when she found it was missing. Perhaps he'd taunt her about it, or tell her he'd throw the sword overboard, or else make her agree to do certain unpleasant tasks for him before he gave it back.

Either way, it would probably be the high point of his day.

* * *

**Author's note: **Blech. This chapter was originally longer, but I had to split it for the sake of sanity. The second half of this chapter will be posted VERY soon. And will have more Nakago in it. Somehow all the Nakago-y bits sort of got shunted into the second half of this chapter…

Thanks to _Nile1283, Helena, tohru78, megumisakura, and Desert Renaissance_ for your reviews! You folks are awesome! As always, the little blue button is your friend, and I love getting feedback, even if it's just "Suboshi is an obnoxious little twerp with anger management problems!" or "This story meanders in more directions than an inebriated octopus" or "Are you _sure_ you're not on drugs?"

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Hoping that Miaka gets rewarded for her hard work...by seeing Nakago naked.**

Since this story is PG-13, full-frontal nudity might be off-limits. However, don't give up all hope yet; I've been assured that I have a rather dirty mind…

**2. But why was Kaen's chi so strange? Didn't Soi decide to merge with her?**

Hopefully this will be answered in the next chapter.

**3. I didn't understand how Nuriko suddenly discovered that Nakago must really care for Miaka. Am I missing something? Or perhaps were you showing that by reminding Nuriko of her priorities, Nakago was very confident that Nuriko would do her duty and protect her priestess come hell or high water?**

Oops. I sort of thought that Nuriko would infer this from Nakago's determination to force her to do her duty, but obviously that wasn't clear enough (or only made sense inside my twisted brain…)

**4. Was the last paragraph full of hints or were they just a bunch of suspicious looking sentences by coincidence? For instance, did Soi go to the site of Miaka and Tamahome's burnt house? Why? And then that other sentence..."Nakago watched the boy lift a box that a boy of his size ought not have been able to lift"...Does being a seishi automatically give you certain abilities or was that a coincidence or was that altogether something else?**

Suboshi has the power of telekinesis, so I would imagine him being able to lift much heavier objects than most boys his age. And yes, Kaen did go to the site of Miaka and Tamahome's burnt house.

**5. I was getting progressively depressed about the end of this story. It's been going on for so long, I was half-expecting it to continue for a long time still.**

I definitely still have ~ 60,000 words to go, if not more. For what it's worth. (My estimate is based on what I have written so far, which does not include the dramatic conclusion or the massive epilogue).

**6. … Will The Rules be more fully explained later? **

Yes. They will be.

**7. The bit about why the Gods didn't choose women for seishi was fantastic. And very logical.**

Thanks! I do think that if Nuriko was given a choice between Miaka and Boushin, she would probably choose Boushin. But if it were a choice between Boushin and _everyone else in the entire world? _That I couldn't say.

-v-

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine…


	47. Sailing a restless sea II

…

**XLVII **

**Sailing a restless sea (II)**

…

Evening found Miaka and Amiboshi on decks, starboard, almost at the bowsprit. Amiboshi had flute in hand and was attempting to practice; in her lap, Miaka held a book that she had been trying to use to improve her knowledge of the current world's character system. Neither was accomplishing very much.

Miaka was starting to realize that she actually _liked_ Amiboshi's company. His flute was soothing, he liked to laugh, and he demanded nothing of her, which she found both refreshing and a little disconcerting, after Nakago. On the ship, amidst the soothing calm of Amiboshi's presence, Miaka's past week was beginning to feel like an unpleasant dream. Save for the lingering sense of impending danger that hung at the edge of her consciousness, Miaka felt content –

– _would_ have felt content, were it not for Nakago.

She had spotted him a few minutes after they had settled by the bowsprit – a tall, pale figure in a dark cloak, looking almost specter-like in the deepening shadows. It was unmistakably Nakago. Had he only just arrived, or he had been there all along, blending in so seamlessly with the surroundings that they just had failed to notice? Miaka did not know, but the thought that he might have been spying on them made her uneasy.

But he certainly did not appear to be conducting any acts of unwelcome espionage. He was not even watching them at all, but looking out over the water, elbows braced against the railing. Miaka followed the path of his gaze, but saw nothing. Either his eyes were far better than hers – unlikely – or else he was gazing at nothing in particular.

"What d'you think he's doing?"

Miaka rested her chin on the rail of the bowsprit. The wind whipped her hair across her face, and a mist of salt spray frosted her cheeks. She pulled her hair back and peered at Nakago. She _knew_ he had noticed them. Nakago noticed everything. But he paid them about as much attention as a leopard might pay a herbivorous beetle.

Amiboshi drew the polishing cloth across the barrel of his flute. The dying light caught his hair, making it look almost blond, as he glanced quickly at Nakago, and then back at his instrument. "I would guess our dear shogun is thinking."

"Is he plotting the conquest of the world, or something? I keep seeing him standing here, practically every time I come on deck. Does he even eat these days? I didn't see him at dinner this evening."

"He probably got food after we left," Amiboshi said. "If there was any left after you finished your fifth helping – ouch!"

"You deserved that."

Miaka opened the book she had just used as a smacking device, but it was hard to make out any words in the dying sunlight. She tried, valiantly, nonetheless.

Amiboshi was playing a sad, slow tune, almost like taps. It made Miaka feel oddly nostalgic. She felt her mind wandering, away from the book in her lap, far away - to a memory she had seen in a shell -

"Amiboshi," she said thoughtfully, when he had finished, "How much do you know about the la – about the place where we're going? Aside from what Taiitsukun told us, I mean?"

She knew – even before she voiced the question – that there was only a very slim chance of discovering anything new. Amiboshi might be from Kutou, but that country was so large –

And sure enough:

"All I know," said Amiboshi, "is that we're traveling to a lake that appears in a mirror and is somewhere within the Kutou border." He grinned at her. "Any music requests?"

He was already raising his flute to his lips again.

Miaka blinked. To her surprise, she found herself faintly put off. Was he not interested in the lake _at all_?

"Wait a second," she said, putting a hand to his flute. "I mean, does it bother you," she said, "that you don't know where Nakago's leading us? For all you know, he could be working for Tenkou and leading us into a trap. I mean, you've had as much of a history with Nakago as any of us. Tasuki looked angry enough to punch a wall to pieces. But you're calm as can be."

Amiboshi looked surprised. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "I just assumed – that is – if Taiitsukun said Nakago should be the one to lead us, then I'll accept that that's what's best."

"Didn't Nakago just threaten you yesterday?" Miaka was genuinely curious now.

Amiboshi shrugged. "Nakago did worse things to you than he ever did to me, and you're still allowing him to lead us. Of course I'll do the same."

Miaka frowned.

She did not know how to feel about such a blind display of trust – trust in Taiitsukun, trust in her. On the one hand, she felt almost flattered; but on the other hand, she felt oddly –

Nervous.

It was not that she didn't trust Nakago. She did. She believed in him – believed, at least, that he would not lead them astray. He was on their side now. It was not in his interest to do anything other than summon the gods.

He had _convinced_ her that this was the case.

But he hadn't – as far as she knew – convinced Amiboshi of anything.

And Amiboshi's lack of suspicion – his unquestioning belief in Taiitsukun – not to mention in _her – that_ bothered Miaka. He ought to be more careful. He ought to be _suspicious_ – ought to question everything that happened. After all, Taiitsukun could be impersonated. And she, Miaka, could be lying, or else under a demon's control!

Amiboshi really ought to _think_ about these things.

You couldn't just trust _anybody_.

Even as these thoughts invaded Miaka's mind, she felt ashamed of herself. It was wrong of her to doubt Amiboshi – even allowing herself to think badly of him felt unnecessarily cold. _Tasuki was right_, she thought guiltily. _I really have changed. I would never have had these thoughts a few months ago. _

And another thought – a corollary:

_Is this because I've been traveling with Nakago? Has talking to him every day turned me into someone as unpleasant as he is? _

Unconsciously, she glanced toward the dark figure staring out over the sea. As if sensing the weight of her gaze on his back, Nakago finally turned, slowly, deliberately. Their eyes met; hers confused, his unsmiling. After a few seconds, he shifted his gaze maddeningly to stare once more out over the ocean – as though she did not even warrant his attention –

"That's it!" Miaka stood up, dropping her book. "I'll be back in a second."

She was halfway down the steps from the ship's bow when she realized Nakago was no longer at the railing.

-v-

Nakago heard the Suzaku no miko shout his name – she was loud enough to draw the attention of the entire crew as well as himself, and he would have had to be deaf to not to hear her.

Halfway to the hatch that would lead to his bunk, he turned. The miko, who had been hurrying after him, stopped short, breathing quickly.

"_Yes_, Miko?"

She floundered, obviously unprepared with a query. Had she simply wished to satisfy her own foolish anxieties about his well-being? If so, her worries were ridiculous, pointless, and unhelpful.

"If you have nothing to say, then I would suggest you close your lips before a bird takes roost inside your mouth," he said cruelly.

He had actually hurt her. He saw her draw back as if slapped. Anger scrawled itself across her face like bad penmanship across a beginner's letter.

"I just wanted to say," Miaka said stiffly, lifting her chin, "that just because you seem to have a vendetta against my personal happiness doesn't mean you have to treat Amiboshi rudely. He was upset, you know, after what you said to him in the mess hall! I guess," she added, "since you seem incapable of speaking to _me_ with even the barest speck of decency, an apology to Amiboshi would also be too much to ask for."

The sight of Amiboshi and the Suzaku no miko had brought a perverse irritation that afternoon, a prickling annoyance of uncertain source.

"If you are so eager for words of apology, I wonder you do not apologize yourself to Amiboshi on my behalf," he said dismissively. "Is that all?"

"You're such a bastard," she said, eyes snapping.

"Yes," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I _am_ a bastard. _Literally_. I am surprised this continues to be a revelation on a near-chronic basis."

Miaka took a step backward, paling. Had Nakago looked closely, he might have seen a shadow of guilt cross her face. She had not forgotten the events she had seen in the _shin. _These came back to her now in full force.

"I –" she began, not really knowing what to say. She stretched a hand out, as though in apology, but Nakago cut her off before she could even decide what she wanted to say.

"Good day, Suzaku no miko."

Nakago strode towards the berth deck without looking behind him. He did not see the miko, but he sensed her. She remained in place for a moment – unmoving, where he had left her; and then she whirled on her heel and walked away quickly, back toward the stern where that pacifist boy was waiting.

Nakago lowered himself down the ladder that led to the ship's berths and made for his hammock near the back of the enclosure. It was cramped and ill-lit in this part of the ship, with low beams that he had to duck to avoid. A rat squeaked and chattered in the corner, perhaps angry at Nakago's abrupt intrusion into its foraging. Nearby, Nakago heard a muffled snore: the bandit, asleep two bunks down.

Nakago removed his cloak and settled onto his makeshift bed, grimacing slightly as its ropes creaked against their wooden frame. The hammock had been designed for one who was smaller proportioned, but it would serve for the remainder of the journey. They were making good time – it was conceivable that they would reach Kutou's shores in not five days, but four – and Nakago had certainly endured sleeping conditions that were _far_ more unpleasant in his lifetime –

He closed his eyes.

As was becoming his habit, he reached out with his chi – casting it across the ship like an oversized fishing-net – probing across the surroundings he had already explored once, earlier that day. But Nakago was interested in the _people_ on board now, and not the vessel itself.

He found Nuriko first, her wild chi a mixture of depression and annoyance. She had been this way the previous day, and Nakago found nothing suspicious or unusual in her demeanor.

Subaru was next; he located her towards the front of the ship, most probably in the mess hall. Amiboshi and the miko appeared to have joined her. The miko was still upset, although her red chi was slowly returning to calm. Amiboshi was a tranquil presence, composed and serene next to the capricious signature of her power – though Nakago sensed that the musician was not _quite _as calm as he appeared on the surface. Perhaps some of the things that Nakago had said earlier had actually gotten through to the boy. And Subaru – Subaru was thoroughly uninteresting.

Nakago moved on.

The bandit's chi was dimmer than normal; a dull shroud of ill-health pervaded his signature. He was not feigning his illness – or his snoring. Had he been, Nakago would have ensured that the irksome creature became well acquainted with a cold-water pail, or some other, equally unpleasant, punishment. A pity.

Suboshi was below decks, toward the back of the ship. There was a faint overtone of satisfaction to his chi that was interspersed with hints of anger. Nakago filed this information away for later analysis and turned his attention toward the last person on board who was of interest. The person in board who was – in fact – of _particular _interest to Nakago at this moment.

Haku Kaen.

While Suboshi was following Kaen through the streets of Eiyou the previous day, Nakago had been making inquiries – inquiries of a specific and delicate nature. He could not _enter_ the palace at Eiyou – to do so would have quite certainly drawn Lord Sadao's attention, which he wished to avoid – but he had been able to ask certain _questions_ of the Konan palace guards, who had seen him bring Miaka back to life a few days earlier and were in awe of him – if not outright afraid.

When he had asked these guards of a woman wearing black, a woman who had accompanied Mitsukake's party into the palace at Eiyou, Nakago had encountered blank stares – but further questioning (aided by a couple glimmerings of cerulean chi) had revealed to him that yes, a woman of Kaen's description _had_ entered the palace – long _after_ Tasuki, Mitsukake, and the Souen delegates had arrived.

Further discussions – if any discourse with the bandit could be termed a _discussion_ –revealed that Kaen had accompanied the others into the city, after which she had slipped away, claiming that she was tired and planned to catch up with the others later.

Which meant that there was a large block of time during which Kaen remained unaccounted for between her arrival in Eiyou and her arrival at the palace.

A block of time which coincided _precisely _with the beginnings of a fire in Market District.

It looked as if they had a traitor on board.

Nakago studied the woman's chi now. It was easy enough. She was not far away – he had discovered her hideout yesterday, on the level directly below his, toward the back of the ship, near the cargo hold. Perhaps that was where she felt safest – certainly she would not be disturbed in that part of the ship, and it was not as wet as the bilges.

As he had suspected the previous day, there was something _off_ about Kaen's chi signature – something that went far deeper than having two souls housed in the same body. It was as though the part of her that was Kaen had suddenly gained Soi's power –

– or was forcibly taking Soi's power for her own use.

Nakago was familiar with the ways by which one living body could forcibly take power from another, though he had almost never used them in practice. Most of these methods – such as stabbing an opponent through the heart with a weapon of power, or bathing in the victim's blood, or eating his heart – were either regrettably distasteful or unforgivably dark. In fact, _Bochuu-Jutsu_ – the very mention of which still made the Suzaku no miko turn pale as the snows of Hokkan – was possibly the kindest means of forced transfer. All such techniques involved making a conduit between the victim and the thief, a bridge across which power could be channeled – a bridge which usually ensured the victim's death. And all of them required _intense_ strength of will on the part of the thief.

Kaen began to pace, striding up and down her berth quickly, agitated undercurrents infusing her chi as she moved.

Kaen and Soi were two souls housed within the same body, so the physical methods of forced power transfer should not apply to them. But strength of will _would _still apply. If Kaen was taking Soi's power, her mind would have to be _considerably_ stronger than Soi's.

The only problem with this theory was that Kaen – weak, retiring Kaen – was about as strong-willed as the Suzaku no miko was elegant, refined, and polished. It was not _possible_ that she was subduing Soi on her own.

It was an undeniable conundrum.

Tenkou could be supplying her with power. But that would require that Tenkou be present – or that Kaen be possessed by a demon. Tenkou was currently confined to Hell; the gods' bonds on him still held, as far as Nakago knew. And he would have sensed it if Kaen was possessed by a demon. So neither option seemed very likely. And Nakago had sensed no traces of kudoku on Kaen in the times he'd probed her chi.

Nakago did not understand, but one thing remained certain:

He would be keeping a _very _close eye on Haku Kaen from now on.

Nakago left Kaen, still pacing back and forth, agitation flaring through her signature. He retreated back to the berth on the first level. Nearby, Tasuki was still snoring. Nakago's lips thinned. He opened his eyes.

He realized immediately that something was wrong. A strange weariness seemed to have come over him during the time he'd been using his chi. His arms were almost limp with exhaustion, and – as he tried to sit up – he felt a fleeting dizziness that caused him to stop where he was and to ease himself slowly back onto the cot.

At first, Nakago wondered if Kaen might have noticed his prying and employed some insidious method of retaliating against him. But this was absurd. It had only been seconds since he had finished observing her – and he had been extremely careful; it was impossible to think that she could have noticed. She might have Soi's power, but she still lacked the years of training that would make her effective at using it – no – there had to be another explanation –

But what?

It had been so long since Nakago had experienced this particular set of symptoms – so long since he had exhibited any kind of weakness after using his chi – that it took him five minutes to realize that what he was experiencing was nothing more or less than an over-exertion of power. When at least he arrived at this conclusion, he sat back, frowning, and folded his hands, which were slowly recovering from their momentary weakness.

It did not make sense. The simple exercise in observation ought not to have tired him. It required only a minimal expenditure of power, barely more than chi-blasting a monkey, or a particularly irritating politician. And yet, all the symptoms were present – the sudden shortness of breath, the kind of strained feeling to his heart, the weary lassitude throughout his limbs.

It had happened the day before as well, after he had used his powers for this purpose. At the time, he had attributed it to alternate causes – fatigue, after a week of travel – possibly the after-effects of being caught in the flames of the miko's blazing house. But now –

Now it was time for a little experiment. Just to be certain –

He called up a ball of chi to his hand and focused on the rat which had chattered at him earlier. Chi lit his palm for a moment, eye-dazzlingly blue in the darkness. _ Kokoro _glowed brightly on his forehead. The unfortunate animal did not even have time to let out a baffled squeak before Nakago's chi turned it to dust.

Nakago sat back in his bunk and closed his eyes. As he had expected, the use of his chi exhausted him far more than it ought to have done. He thought he knew why now, and that thought brought its own bitter smile to his lips.

_Tenkou_, he thought. _Always full of surprises_.

He did not welcome this one.

-v-

Something was seriously wrong with Nakago.

He hadn't been at the mess hall at breakfast, nor had he dined with the others the previous evening. Thinking back on it, the only times Miaka had seen him had been on deck – staring out over the vastness of the empty sea. Aside from his disparaging remarks to her the previous day, they had not engaged in conversation. And Subaru had _confirmed_ that Nakago hadn'tbeen coming for food after hours, when the others were away.

Was he trying to starve himself?

Was he _ill_?

By lunchtime on the third day, Miaka's worry finally outstripped her desire to never again exchange words with the Seiryuu shogun. She might dislike him, but she didn't want him to _starve _to death_._ With her proclivities toward food, that particular mode of demise had always seemed particularly appalling to her.

So when the mess hall opened, Miaka asked Subaru for an extra plate and carried it with her onto the deck.

"Here," she said, holding it out for Nakago.

He took it from her as though barely noticing it. Miaka, feeling very martyr-esque, turned on her heel, took one step in the direction of the mess hall, and caught her foot in one of the sheets.

The resulting squawk, coupled with Miaka's undignified landing on the floor of the deck, should – by rights – have been sufficient to make Nakago let loose a deliciously sarcastic comment over her general lack of poise, or her propensity for drawing attention to herself, or perhaps, her resemblance to a chicken.

But Nakago said none of those things.

Miaka looked up, after a few red-faced moments, to find her arch-nemesis still staring over the boat's railing, not even regarding her.

"Hey," she said, pulling herself to her feet. Her knee was bruised, but it was nothing a little walking around on it wouldn't fix. "Aren't you going to make some kind of nasty remark about how I look like a duck, or something?"

He regarded her coldly for a moment and then turned back to the horizon. "I believe you had already come to that conclusion yourself, Suzaku no Miko."

"Nakago," she said, joining him on the railing. "Are you all right?"

"Your alarm, as always, is touching, though I do not perceive its cause."

"You _always_ insult me," she said, glaring at him.

"If I had known applying insults to you would put your mind at ease, I would be happy to oblige," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I was not aware that this was a prerequisite to your personal comfort."

She sighed and crossed her arms. "You've been avoiding me, or insulting by turns," she said. "You really are riled up about this mission, aren't you? Which is it? The lake? Or the kudoku?"

_Or both? _

He was silent for a moment, so silent Miaka began to think he had forgotten she was there and started to worry. Finally he said:

"The kudoku is… stronger than I had expected."

The matter of fact way he said it made her stomach clench. It surprised her, just how much terror those words brought.

"We'll get there before then," she said. (Before the kudoku takes hold, before this entire mission proves entirely worthless).

"Hm."

He stared out over the open ocean.

"You know," she said, following his line of sight, "If someone had told me six months ago that I'd one day be having a friendly chat with my one-time arch-nemesis as we sailed to some random place in Kutou in order to summon all four gods so that a vicious underworld demon wouldn't succeed in his insidious plot of mass destruction… well." Her lips twisted. "It's pretty crazy how things have turned out, isn't it?"

They stood in silence a moment. But it was not the awkward silence Miaka had been expecting. It was a companionable silence, almost comfortable. Miaka let her gaze wander. There was a strange calm to the afternoon. Had Miaka had more seafaring experience, the quiet might have disturbed her rather than soothed her.

"Nakago?" Miaka's voice was casual. "What happened to your mother?"

"I believe you have already seen those memories, Miko."

It was impossible to read his expression.

"Some," she said. "But I want to know your version of things." And when he didn't say anything for a few minutes, she said blithely, "Tenkou _will_ prey on every possible weakness, you know!"

They were the same words he had spoken to her that night at the inn,

She could almost sense Nakago tensing. Then – with hardly any warning at all – he turned towards her.

"I killed my mother and father in the Shijintenchisho," said Nakago. Though the words were spoken in an almost light, factual tone, there was something almost vicious about the way he said them that made Miaka's hair stand on end. It was as though he had found himself in an unpleasant place and – so cornered – was deliberately trying to gain the upper hand by shocking her. "I obliterated my mother – in addition to half of my village – and later put a sword through my father's heart in a battle for power. Is there something _else_ you wanted?"

"Y-you lost control," Miaka said, trying to keep her voice even. "It wasn't your fault, you didn't know any better – and –" _I put a sword through my father's heart. _Miaka shivered.

Nakago shot her a cold glance, as though he knew _exactly _what kinds of thoughts were going through her mind just then. Without speaking, he turned back towards the sea.

"What about Taria?" she said, terrified, but _she had to know._ "What happened to her?"

No response. Nakago, it seemed, had told her all he was going to.

Miaka bit her lip.

_Never mind. _

She turned back to the water, trying to relax her hands, which were clenched against the guard-rail. Her heart was still racing. The sky was beautiful; the sun that hit the water and scattered off it was equally lovely. After a minute, she leaned over the side, hands out stretched. The glittering of the sun was like gems on the water. It seemed impossible to believe that demons existed on days like today.

She squinted off into the distance. They were far from land, but she thought she saw something – that was odd. Perhaps it was a large bird, though it did not move like a bird. It was shaped a bit more like a cloud.

Perhaps Nakago would know. She turned to him.

"What," she asked brightly, "is that dark sort of cloud-shaped thing out there?"

"That, Miko," said Nakago, "is an approaching storm."

"Ah."

Miaka stared at the dark cloud. It seemed to grow larger as she watched.

"You should return to the cabin," Nakago said flatly.

Miaka turned, and then glanced back over her shoulder. "What about you?" she said.

"I will go below-decks shortly."

Miaka had a strange feeling he was only saying this to appease her. She stopped to glower at him, but he had already turned back to the impending storm.

_Honestly!_

She hurried for the cabin. Nuriko was there already, looking wary but alert. Without saying hello, Miaka brushed past her and reached below her mattress, checking that the items needed to summon the gods were still there. She threw the necklace over her neck and slid the mirror through a loop in the belt that held the sword, then strapped the sword-belt around her waist. Something felt a little off about the weight of the sword, but she attributed that to the added weight of the mirror and didn't look down. There was hardly enough light to see by, anyway. The scepter she held.

"Just in case," she said.

"I hardly think you'll go overboard this time," said Nuriko. "Twice in a row would be just unlucky."

"_If_ we capsize," Miaka said stubbornly. "I refuse to be blamed for causing the mission to fail because I lost one of the items needed to summon the gods."

"You can't even swim," said Nuriko, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "Not only will all that metal guarantee that you'll sink like a stone, but you'll make it twice as hard for any rescuer of yours to save you."

Miaka ignored her. She stared out the cabin window as the ship bucked and swayed. On deck, she could see sailors rushing about, hoisting the sails and tying them down. It was growing darker, and they had extinguished the lights; the rolling of the ship had made lamp-light too much of a fire risk. Miaka watched the other seishi hurry by outside, making their way down the ladder to the deck below. Amiboshi stayed to help the sailors tie down the masts, and Miaka could not help but breathe a sigh of relief as she saw him finally climb through the hatch, down the ladder down to the bunks.

She could hear the storm getting worse outside; the groaning of the ship filled her with unease. The rolling of the sea was making even her iron stomach curl.

Miaka wasn't sure whether they were down there hours or minutes. All she felt was apprehension, a slow, steadily-burgeoning feeling of wrongness. Because, despite her clear view of the entrance to the lower berths, there was one figure she _hadn't _seen going below-deck.

Nakago had not come in.

She had been so worried about Amiboshi that she hadn't even thought of Nakago; now she wondered if she might have missed seeing him go down. But she didn't believe that really – Nakago was almost impossible to miss. No, she would surely have seen him go by. Which meant that Nakago was still out on deck, somewhere in the storm.

"Miaka? Where are you going?"

"I'll be back in a second," she said, tightening her grip on the scepter.

"Miaka, STOP!" Nuriko said. "If there's lightning –"*

Miaka did not listen, but launched herself out the door. It was hard to run with the sword banging against her thigh, so Miaka was forced into a quick walk instead. The scepter was heavy in her fist as she made her way up the stairs. She stumbled and almost fell but got up again, determination filling her.

It was wind-lashing, rain-pounding chaos outside, and the second Miaka cleared the doorway she wondered if she had made a mistake. Rain blew at her from all angles, stinging her eyes and the exposed skin of her hands, until she could barely see what was before her.

The sails were tied down; ropes trailed across the bottom of the boat. She grabbed one for safety and started forward, fighting to keep her balance against the swaying of the ship. It was hard to see in this darkness. She heard shouts all around her from the sailors and crew; they were dim shapes, almost like ghosts, and they ran past her without paying her any heed. Where was Nakago?

And then, a flash of lightning illuminated the ship and she saw him: at the edge of the ship near where she had left him, not moving. She was twenty feet away from him, possibly less.

"NAKAGO!" she yelled.

It was amazing that he heard her (the noise of the storm and the rain should have drowned out her voice entirely) but in the residual light from the lightning strike, she saw him turn. The lightning died away, and all was dark again, but she had her eyes on him now, and could faintly make out his shirt, a lighter blur against the darkness. She began making her way toward him with small steps, painfully aware of how delicate her balance was. Within seconds she felt him grab her shoulder.

"What are you doing out here?" He had to raise his voice against the gale, but even aside from that, she could tell he was angry.

"What are _you_ doing?" Miaka tossed back at him, shouting against the wind. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

He really was, she thought, or something close to it. Water was sloshing across her feet, drenching her shoes; already, her clothing was soaked through. Any man who willingly stood outside in a storm like this must have a masochistic streak like none other.

She glared at him, suddenly furious, and took hold of his sleeve. If he didn't care for his own life, that was fine with her, but she had promised Soi, and she was damned if she was going to renege on that promise; what was more, they needed Nakago. _She_ needed Nakago, if she was to have any hope of succeeding.

Of going home again.

"Come inside," she hissed at him.

He looked at her, and there was a moment where she saw his face in perfect detail. _That's odd_, she thought; it was still dark but the night seemed to be lighting up around her and the scepter, or maybe she was the one who was glowing. Everything was happening so eerily slowly; even her thoughts were frighteningly slow. The light seemed to be gathering around the scepter – wasn't that odd, now? How warm it was, how strangely warm…

Then everything exploded.

* * *

**Author's note: **Yes! Two updates in two days! I'm on a roll here! Although… am I seriously on chapter 47? Oh my god… this story is going to be so much longer than 60 chapters –buries face in hands-

Although, I really can't complain right now. The next chapter is a rather FUN one. -Cackles villainously-

Thanks so much to _Desert Renaissance, Helena, tohru78, _and _honey_ for your reviews and continued support for this work (I feel like I'm running a fundraising campaign whenever I say stuff like that – but seriously, you guys are amazing! :-P) As always, my review policy is "Concrit is awesome!" so drop me a line, even if it's just "OMGWTFLIGHTNING?" or "You don't really know _anything_ about how a ship is constructed, do you?"

*Disclaimer (I): In the interest of scientific accuracy, I feel obliged to point out that metal objects do not actually attract lightning. Apparently, this is a myth.

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Hope Miaka gets to see Nakago's bare chest soon.**

XD

**2. How would Tenkou have ceased aging if he was from Earth? **

That is, indeed, a question!

**3. Maybe I need to review his status, but is Tenkou dead in this world, then?**

Nope. He's still alive!

Side note: Just to remind y'all, in case you'd forgotten, this story breaks off from canon around the time of Suzaku's summoning (read: I was too lazy/uninterested to read the canon bits that didn't have Nakago in them, plus the plot got really questionable in the second half of the series). So Tenkou in this story is basically an original character. In fact, the entire universe/setting has undergone some tweaks. And I actually have my own little plot worked out that hopefully will explain everything and not just make sense in my brain. * Nods proudly *

**4. At first I thought it was strange that Miaka was SO naive about Nakago's comment regarding Amiboshi taking advantage of her. But if she was sure Amiboshi had platonic feelings towards her, she probably couldn't understand what Nakago was implying. Miaka is stubborn to a fault, after all, but I thought she's a bit more worldly now.**

I think there's also a bit of willful denial involved here. Because Miaka really wants to spend time with Amiboshi as a friend (esp since she is bored out of her mind), but if she acknowledged that Amiboshi might like her, that would add a whole extra dimension to their relationship that she just doesn't feel ready for. She's decently recovered from Tamahome's death, but still not quite as ready to 'move on' as Nuriko might think.

**5. Poor Miaka. Suboshi is just being plain mean to her because of his brother and Yui.**

Yep. Good ol' teen angst strikes again. …But, just to put this into context, if I had to choose between being picked on by Suboshi and struck by lightning, I'd probably choose the former.

**6. Will Nakago and Miaka have a romance scene in this story?**

… Depends on what you mean by 'a romance scene'. Will they realize their mutual attraction/attachment – dare I say, _love_ – for each other? Yes. Will there be sex? Haven't decided. Will there be other, erm, physical stuff? Yes. Will Nakago ever say 'I love you' out loud?

… I think you'll have to wait a LOOONG time for that one, m'dear.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Thoughts on Nakago's behavior? (I'm mostly trying to make sure he's not coming off as mentally unstable or anything – that was not really my intention…)

2. Story making sense so far? Thoughts on Kaen? I guess I could have kept the Kaen thing as more of a mystery, but everyone has basically figured it out anyway. I think I'm bad with mysteries these days. The trouble is, the easiest way to make a mystery is to make a nice character evil, but I LIKE all my characters too much to do that to them :-P And I really hate it when a person you think is nice and awesome turns out to be a nasty little twat. So I'll stick with dramatic irony instead.

-v-

Disclaimer (II): If I actually owned these characters, I would not be writing fanfiction about them. I would be exploiting them and using them to make money.


	48. Boat and Blanket

…

**XLVIII**

**Boat and blanket**

…

It has been commonly observed that whenever you most desperately need to write something down, every pen in your bag turns out to be broken or out of ink; every mechanical pencil has just enough graphite to taunt you into believing it might be persuaded to write properly; and, if you are bold enough to attempt to refill one of the aforementioned mechanical pencils, you inevitably discover that you are in possession of lead two sizes too large. Perhaps, Tetsuya thought, as he shoved his useless pack of 0.9 mm graphite back into his pocket, pulled a fourth inkless pen from his bag, and made an experimental doodle with it – perhaps this was a Rule, just like the Rules Taiitsukun had mentioned when she was talking to Miaka.

Tetsuya shot a covert glance across the library table at Yui. He could ask Yui for a spare pen, of course. Yui was the sort of person who owned multiple pens that worked. She had the look of an organized person who routinely checks her bags before she leaves the house, to make sure that necessary items – like pens with ink – are not left forgotten on countertops. But Yui was also currently wearing a look of deep intensity. Tetsuya recognized that look. It was a look scholars often wore when they were very deep into their research. It was the look of one who Probably Ought Not To Be Disturbed.

Best keep trying, then.

It was a little after noon. The library was beginning to fill up with yawning university students who looked as though they had just rolled out of bed. Tetsuya envied them. He and Yuihad arrived at the library at seven-thirty, and Tetsuya was operating on approximately three hours of sleep and the Hongo's remaining supply of coffee, and he was pretty sure he was going to crash at some point in the not-so-distant future. He only hoped that when he did, inevitably, fall victim to his requirement for sleep, there was a comfortable sofa in the vicinity.

Keisuke was not with them. Keisuke was still at the Hongo house, snoring loudly inside the guest bedroom. Tetsuya knew, from past experience pulling all-nighters with his friend, that Keisuke would likely be comatose until late afternoon.

Tetsuya and Yui had staked out one of the larger tables in the library minutes after their arrival. It was currently strewn with piles of books and newspaper articles, which the two of them were slowly paging through. It was slow work. Yui had opted to investigate mysterious disappearances that might be associated with Tenkou's entry into The Universe of the Four Gods – but since they had no idea when he would have entered the Book-world, or even from which town, she wasn't getting very far. She had narrowed down her search to the towns where the Book was known to have resided – Moroika and Tokyo – in the past eighty years. Tetsuya had a sinking feeling that they might need to look farther back in time than that. _If Tenkou has enough power to invade Miaka's dreams at will, _he had argued, _it stands to reason that he might have managed to find some way to attain immortality. _ At which Yui had pointed out calmly and rationally that they had to start _somewhere_ and that this mode of investigation was preferable to travel to China, where the original copy of the Universe of the Four Gods scroll had been found, to research mysterious disappearances _there_.

And, since Tetsuya had no desire to take on the burden of investigating all the mysterious disappearances that had taken place in the past two hundred years, he did not press the matter.

Tetsuya had his hands own hands full, anyway. He was researching –

Well, actually, he wasn't really _sure_ what he was researching.

That was how it worked in academia, right? You were supposed to do a lot of background reading _first_, and _then_ you tried to generate questions, questions that could ultimately be turned into testable hypotheses which could be written up into theses of publishable quality.

Of course, Tetsuya wasn't writing a thesis. He was trying to make sense of the Universe of the Four Gods (specifically how such a book had come into existence to begin with). But similar principles applied.

Ungenerous people might have raised their eyebrows at Tetsuya's style of information gathering. At the moment, he rather resembled a rat on PCP. Tetsuya would open up a book, flip through its index, find a few chapters he thought looked interesting, and skim those at lightning speed. Then, somewhere in the middle of a chapter, he would come across a reference to a different book, leap up, and hurry off to the stacks to find it. Usually he would end up returning with an armful of books with quite similar titles, which he would then proceed to open. And skim. And from there, he would identify more references, which led to even _more_ books –

In short, Tetsuya had learned quite a lot that morning about very many different subjects, the vast majority of which were probably irrelevant.

He had learned more than he ever wanted to know about the role of the four gods in Chinese mythology, of the creation myths describing their birth, of their connections to the Chinese constellations. He had learned their Chinese names (_Meng Zhang, Ling Guang, Jian Bing, Zhi Ming_) and their connections to the seasons. He had spent a lot of time researching the overlaps between Buddhism Confucianism, and Taoism, and the number four, and the pantheon of _other_ gods that had entered into the mythology of ancient China. He had finally caved and skimmed through the stories about Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, whose name kept popping up in every Chinese mythology book he opened, and whose escapades made Tenkou's deeds look like the acts of a sweet and kindly grandmother.

He had researched world theory and Schrodinger's cat, and he'd also picked up a few more rigorous books on quantum mechanics, most of which Tetsuya only pretended to understand. He had skimmed a biography of Max Born, the scientist who'd invented QM, and then gotten distracted looking up lists of Nobel Prize winners on his laptop. From Max Born, Tetsuya had jumped to Chinese medicine, and had spent a long and fruitless time perusing books about chi and about finding one's essence, and all sorts of things that seemed to work very well in the Book-World but didn't seem to work as well on Earth – or at least, didn't do a thing when Tetsuya tried them.

But now, Tetsuya thought he had finally found Something Of Interest, buried in – of all things – an old computer programming textbook.

He had chosen computer science after Chinese medicine, purely on a hunch – a hunch which _might_ have been biased by his recent enrollment in Computer Science 101 to fulfill distribution requirements. But Tetsuya thought it made sense. He wanted to learn more about the Rules that governed the Universe. And computer science was _full _of Rules. When you thought about it, a computer program was basically a set of rules and commands you set up (conventionally known as code) – and then you said 'go' and the computer ran through your code, and somehow (Tetsuya was still iffy on the details) the computer came up with a result.

Really, was that very different from how the Universe worked? Code, in Universe terms, would be things like natural laws, physics, and rules about magic. Rules, in other words.

But what had _really _sparked the fire in Tetsuya's brain was _this sentence_ – an innocent little snippet out of the line of an old book on programming languages:

"_An interesting feature of assembly code is that it allows the user to modify the elements of their programs_ _as the programs are being executed. For obvious reasons (limited usefulness, debugging difficulties, and potential for abuse), no modern higher-level languages possess this ability_."

A program that could modify _its own rules, __**while it was running?**_

Tetsuya hadn't known that computers could do that.

And if computers could do that, why not the Universe?

Everyone just _assumed_ that the rules – the natural laws that governed the universe were set in stone, impossible to change. Testable. Constant.

_But what if they weren't? _

And if the Universe of the Four Gods (and their own world, Tetsuya supposed) was really just the equivalent of a great big computer program that had already been set in motion, running upon a set of rules until the end of Time – and if someone could find ways to _change the rules from within _–

Tetsuya pulled his sixth – and last – pen out of his bag and doodled quickly on one of the papers in front of him. To his amazement, a zigzaggy blue scribble followed the trail of the pen.

"Aha!" he muttered. "I _knew_ I had a working pen somewhere! Hiding from me, eh? Sly little bastard."

"Tetsuya," said Yui – Tetsuya jumped. "Is there some reason why you're using the blank pages in The Book as scratch paper?"

Tetsuya looked down. A giant blue zig-zag meandered across page 263 of The Universe of the Four Gods like an overenthusiastic lightning bolt.

"Oh," he said guiltily. "Crap. Sorry."

Tetsuya closed The Book hurriedly and sifted through the pile of books until he found his notebook. He flipped open to a blank page and wrote:

...

_**Evidence that the Book-World**__**is basically a giant computer program that can modify itself:**_

_Point 1. Taiitsukun told Miaka that 'The Rules have changed' (p. 204, UotFG) because the Universe of the Four Gods was merged with the Other World._

_Point 2. Miaka made the wish that merged the UotFG with the OW._

_Point 3. Therefore, Miaka directly but unknowingly changed The Rules through her actions._

_Point 4. If Miaka (mortal girl, not a god herself) can change The Rules (albeit unknowingly), can others?_

_Point 5. In ways other than merging two worlds together?_

_Point 6. But how?_

_..._

Question mark question mark question mark question mark…

Tetsuya stared at the page for a second. Then he flipped to a new page of his notebook and tried again.

...

_**Evidence that the Book-World is basically a giant, self-modifying computer program:**_

_Point 1. Taiitsukun told Miaka that 'The Rules changed in unpredictable ways when the worlds merged' (p. 204, UotFG) because The Rules of the two worlds were 'very different' (p. 204, UotFG) before the merge. _

_Point 2. UotFG and OW were originally the same world, a very long time ago._

_Point 3. Then something must have happened that caused the two worlds to split (_Theory of Alternate Universes, ch. 2, p. 142).

_Point 4. When or after that happened, The Rules of UotFG and OW became different. _

_Point 5. Very different. _

_Point 6. So different that merging the two worlds together caused The Rules to change 'unpredictably' (p. 204, UotFG). _

_Point 7. The UotFG has gods, and the OW does not have gods. We have already seen a possible connection between gods' actions (Miaka's wish) and rules changing. _

_Point 8. Given Point 7, it seems more likely that The Rules of the UotFG changed and The Rules of the OW stayed the same._

...

Tetsuya chewed his pen again, hesitated, and wrote:

_**What changed The Rules in the Universe of the Four Gods?**_

He thought again. That sentence looked wrong. Not _what_, he thought. Not _**what**__…_

He crossed out 'What' and placed his pen above the crossed-out letters. His hand was starting to shake.

_**Who**_**, **he wrote.

-v-

Miaka came to underwater, which was never a good sign. She was sinking, drowning, the weight of excess metal dragging her toward the bottom of the ocean. Her hand was clenched around the scepter of Kutou, and she wanted to drop it, but she knew that she must not, _could_ not, let it go – even though shooting pains were radiating up her right arm – even as it weighed her down –

She tried to use her chi to save herself, but for whatever reason, it would not come. Panicking, she tried again, and then again. Nothing. It was as though her magic would not let her access it, as though she had suddenly lost all contact with _chi._ It was there, she _knew_ it was in her somewhere, but she couldn't use it.

Fear filled her, and despair. Black spots were filling her vision, and dizziness was beginning to take her brain. Soon she would be lost for good, and then where would their world be? Doomed to live its last sorry moments before Tenkou destroyed it. Tenkou had won.

She felt someone grab her by the waist, but barely registered it.

And then she surfaced.

She gasped for air. An arm was around her waist, firm and unyielding. She was being towed somewhere; where, she did not know.

She felt herself deposited on a wooden surface and she clung to it like a lifeline. Eyes closed, check pressed against the damp wood, she coughed water and bile.

She did not know how long she clung there. She had never been more drenched in her life. The roar of the rain and the wind and thunder made conversing with her rescuer impossible. The pattern of veins in her closed eyelids was illuminated in the flashes of lightning, but she did not open her eyes. The sodden wood beneath her rocked and tilted, and waves lashed against her face. She clung miserably, afraid that the slightest motion would cause their makeshift raft to capsize. At least the scepter had survived the journey – it jabbed painfully into her side, but she did not dare shift position to fix it. Her hand still hurt where she clutched the scepter, but the pain had dulled to a throb.

After what seemed like hours, Miaka realized that the sound of the rain was dying down. The waves washing over their raft seemed to be coming less and less frequently. The sky was growing brighter, too; a soft sort of light shone through her closed eyelids, which no longer stung with the impact of raindrops. Slowly, through the cold that seemed to numb her mind and body, Miaka grew aware of the fact that someone else's body was pressed against her arm.

She opened her eyes.

She was on a small piece of wood that looked as though it had once been a piece of a ship. It was about the size of Miaka's bed in Tokyo had been: large enough to fit two people, but only just. The raft rocked alarmingly as she tried to sit up.

The man lying next to her was Nakago. He lay on his back, hands folded, eyes closed. Streams of damp hair clung to his face, which was white. For one horrible moment, Miaka was certain he was dead. Panic engulfed her.

"Nakago!" she said, placing a desperate hand on his shoulder. "_Nakago!_"

His eyes opened.

The strength of Miaka's relief, in combination with the cold, almost caused her to collapse back onto the raft. Of all the ways this journey could go wrong, being trapped alone on a raft in the middle of the sea with Nakago's dead body would have been worst. She would have gone mad. No, she would have thrown herself overboard and let herself be torn to pieces by the hungry sharks that roamed these waters!

… She really hoped no hungry sharks _did_ roam these waters.

"I thought you were dead," she said, swallowing back a sob.

"Much as I am certain my death would please you, I must disappoint you with the assurance that I am very much alive."

"Don't joke like that," said Miaka. "What were you playing at, lying there awake with your eyes closed?"

"It is conventionally known as 'conserving one's strength'." Nakago sat up very carefully. The raft gave a few protesting wobbles, but seemed to tolerate his movements; at least it did not overturn. Miaka clung to the sides, feeling icy water lap against her hands, and followed his gaze outward, across the ocean.

The dark clouds were breaking up, dissolving to reveal a magnificent pink-and-gold sky. It was a little after sunset. Had she been safe on the ship, Miaka would have been captivated by the glorious view of the open ocean. Now, the view seemed almost sinister. She stared across the water, searching for signs of land – but no matter what direction she looked, she saw only water. Her stomach sank.

"Do you have the objects required to summon the gods?" Nakago said, drawing her attention away from the disheartening view.

Miaka looked down. In the deepening twilight, she could just barely make out the outline of the sword-belt she had affixed to her torso before leaving the cabin. Miraculously, the items she had threaded onto the belt seemed to have survived her near brush with death. Mirror and sword were both present – a bit waterlogged, but unharmed. The Hokkan necklace glinted faintly from its home around her neck.

In her right hand, she still clutched the scepter of Kutou. Some of the gold filigree had been melted – a consequence of its brush with lightning – but the gem at the top still sparkled defiantly. Gently, Miaka transferred the scepter to her uninjured hand and turned her palm upright to examine it. Though her skin was white and water-soaked, Miaka could make out a faint blistering on her palm, and her hand throbbed dully when she tried to flex her fingers. But the wound didn't look too serious. She closed her fingers and gently rested her hand in her lap.

"What happened?" she asked Nakago. The former shogun of Kutou was staring at a point high above the horizon. For a moment, Miaka wondered if he was pointedly ignoring her; then she realized that he was studying the constellations that were just starting to dot the night sky.

"Lightning," he said mirthlessly. "It struck the mast and the scepter. You were blasted overboard. The mast exploded, and the ship was destroyed. We're currently sitting on part of it." He gave the sky another brief glance and nodded at a random point behind Miaka's left shoulder. "Land will be that way."

"What about the others?" Miaka asked. "Do you think they survived?"

Carefully, Nakago broke off a piece of wood from the edge of their raft. For a moment, Miaka was confused, and then realization dawned as he placed the makeshift oar in the water. "I have no idea," he said unconcernedly. "Diving into the water to save a drowning miko required a significant portion of my attention."

Miaka turned away, looking out once more over the water, searching for other makeshift rafts – people – debris – anything that might serve to indicate the fate on the others aboard her ship. She was not sure whether to be worried or relieved when her eyes encountered only water.

One question still required her attention. She fixed Nakago with an angry glare. "Why didn't you come in during the storm?" she asked him. "Back there, on the ship? One would almost think you had a death wish!"

"You may rest assured, Miko, that if I had a death wish, I certainly wouldn't indulge it by standing on a ship, unprotected, in the middle of a storm, waiting for lightning to strike me. There are far more efficient means of assuring one's demise, don't you agree?" There was an almost sardonic bite to his voice as he addressed her. "This was no _natural _storm, Miko. This storm was orchestrated by Tenkou – quite probably to blow us off course. Since Tenkou wishes me alive, in order to watch his kudoku take hold, I had nothing to fear."

That was not wholly true – Nakago had not been _entirely_ certain that Tenkou (or Kaen) would not take advantage of the storm to send an errant flash of lightning his way to kill him. It was this uncertainty that had added _flavor _to the whole experience, for – in the midst of the crashing thunder, the wind and salt spray, the rolling waves and the pounding rain – Nakago had felt more _alive _than he had in days_. _The thrill of surviving, of nearly thwarting death, had sent a shock of adrenaline through his system; it was like emerging unscathed and victorious from a battle-field.

But he did not bother trying to say this to the miko.

The storm had been Kaen's, but she had drawn from Soi's power to fuel it. Kaen was obviously not well versed in the art of storm creation; the storm had been a haphazard affair, which – if Nakago was correct – had quickly escaped its owner's control. Had Kaen actually intended to hurt the miko? Or had that been an accident, a fluke, a sign of poor discipline on Kaen's part? Nakago was not certain. But this new development only added to the mystery that surrounded Kaen, Soi, and their connection to Tenkou –

He might have used his chi to try to locate the woman. He thought about doing so. But in the end, he concluded that this course would be unwise – particularly given his response to simple uses of his power the previous day.

Nakago continued to row.

-v-

It was growing darker by the minute, and every part of Miaka was freezing. A couple times, she had reached toward the edge of the raft, intending to break off a piece so that she could help Nakago paddle, but each time she had stopped with a hiss of pain as her injured hand came in contact with the sodden wood.

It hardly mattered, anyway; she so cold now, she could barely feel her fingers. She hugged her knees for warmth, but still she shivered. Her bones, her teeth ached with cold. Her clothing was wet, but at least the waves had ceased coming in over the edge of their tiny vessel. Miaka huddled, trying to force herself to move, to do _something_ other than be entirely useless – until Nakago – noting her shivers – roused her from her misery:

"Use your chi to warm yourself."

_Of course!_ Miaka thought. She called up chi between her trembling palms and felt a rush of relief when it came easily to her hands. She felt warmer almost instantly.

As the feeling began to return to her fingers, Miaka noticed that the sleeve of her still-wet tunic was steaming slightly. This gave her an idea. She pulled her sodden cloak off her shoulders and then, carefully, began guiding her chi along the surface of the fabric. It was slow work, and she couldn't help but think longingly of how much she missed modern-day appliances. Like laundry machines.

_And back home, doing laundry was always my least favorite chore! But I'd give anything for a clothes dryer now – although I suppose it would probably sink the raft –_

The thought of a dryer on board their teetering vessel was absurd enough to produce a giggle from her lips. Nakago gave her an inscrutable look, and Miaka swallowed the rest of her hysterical laughter with difficulty. The cloak was almost dry. She finished the last few spots and set it down carefully in the middle of the raft. Her tunic and skirt were still wet, but she felt not a little worn out after drying her cloak. _I'll take care of the rest of my clothes in a moment,_ she thought.

"Are you all right?" she asked Nakago, suddenly worried by his silence. His forehead was not glowing, which meant he was not using his chi to warm himself. In fact, she had not once seen the glow of his blue chi through the darkness. He had stripped off his sodden shirt, though why he did not dry it as she had done, she could not fathom. As it was, the fact that he was only clad from waist down was vaguely distracting. Some of the color had returned to his face, but when she placed a hand on his shoulder; it was cold.

"Nakago," she said, "Why aren't you –"

He paused in his rowing and looked at her. She had to apply some effort to keep her eyes on his face, and not allow her eyes to wander to the sight of his well-muscled chest, which was quite a bit more skin than she was used to. ._Don't be silly,_ she told herself crossly, _you saw plenty of _skin_ when he was wounded, and you didn't lose your head then. _Except this thought only served to remind her of the day after his injury, when she _had _managed to fall victim to his corrupt and thoroughly unscrupulous sense of humor. Worse, she suspected – from the casual quirk of his eyebrows – that Nakago knew _exactly_ what she was thinking about right now and was quite thoroughly amused by it. Miaka looked away from him quickly and stared out over the ocean, grateful for the growing darkness, which hid whatever red might be spreading across her cheeks.

"The kudoku is currently being held at bay by my chi," Nakago said calmly, and she remembered that she had actually asked him a question. "It stands to reason that the more I use my chi, the more I give access to the poison."

Miaka's eyes, which had been intently focused on a cluster of stars on the distant horizon, snapped abruptly back to his face.

"So every time you use your chi, it makes the kudoku spread faster."

"In bare essentials, yes –"

She was already hunting around on the bottom of the raft. She found the cloak and tossed it hurriedly over his shoulders. "Put this on," she said, "before you _freeze_. What were you planning to do if I didn't give this to you? Die of hypothermia?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I have been rowing. Physical activity does tend to be a decent guard against the cold – what are you doing?"

She had placed a hand on his wrist and was trying, experimentally to force power across this point of contact. It was surprisingly difficult. Miaka sighed and gave up after a few tries, sitting back on the raft and folding her arms. "I was trying," she said, "to give you more chi to help you fight the kudoku."

"But skin to skin transfer is so… inefficient."

Before she knew what was happening, _his_ hand was on _her _wrist and he was pulling her closer. Miaka blinked and swallowed, caught by the sudden realization that his face was _very_ close to hers."You do know that there are other, faster methods of chi transfer," Nakago murmured, but she was finding it very hard to think of anything other than his lips, which were barely inches from her own. She could practically feel his breath on the skin of her face, warm against the chill night air. He was so close – mesmerizingly close –

Close enough to kiss –

Then the words he had just uttered caught up with her brain. Miaka blanched. The thought of _which_ of the other methods of power transfer he might be considering was enough to cause her to yank her entire body backward in alarm.

Except she couldn't go far, with his hand still on her wrist – and his other hand seemed to have circled round her when she wasn't looking, to capture her back. Miaka glared at him, feeling her face start to glow with embarrassment. He was toying with her again – pulling her purposefully off-guard; was this whole thing just a _joke_ to him? "You," she whispered hotly. "You are so…"

But her mind seemed to have gone blank of useful adjectives. Her brain seemed determined to supply her, unobligingly, with words such as 'yummy' and 'attractive' instead of 'bastardly' and 'jerkish.' She found herself leaning towards him, almost involuntarily – found herself noticing things she hadn't noticed before – the way the light from the water shimmered across his pale skin – a faint discoloration of skin on his cheek, as though of a wound long healed – the way his still-damp hair clung to the bare skin of his shoulders –

Nakago smiled, and her eyes were drawn – once again – to the curve of his lips. "Why so shy, Miko? It's not like you don't have experience with one of these methods already."

Miaka blinked. _Oh, _she thought, relieved. He was referring to her impromptu healing job in the cave the night he'd been stabbed. _Mouth to mouth chi transfer – that's what he means, not – _

"Of course," Nakago said, cutting into her train of thought like a poisonous thought on a sunny day, "we could also try _Bochuu-Jutsu _if you are so inclined. Ironic how often you accuse _my _mind of being corrupt, when that was the first thing you thought of just now."*

_I don't _believe_ him. _

The haze which had been clouding her mind vanished as abruptly as if Nakago had flicked a switch. Miaka's eyes narrowed. Her hands trembled – partly with cold and partly with fury. "The day we do b- _that act_ together, _hentai_," she snarled, "is the day Tenkou's demons start building giant snowmen in Hell. Now let _go_ of me!"

He released her obligingly. Then he started to laugh – a full-throated chuckle that made her, if possible, even more enraged. Beet-red with a combination of mortification and fury, Miaka folded her arms and scooted to the opposite side of the raft, as far as possible from her nemesis. Had she actually been concerned for his safety earlier? She ought to have let Tasuki try to kill the bastard back in Eiyou. _I am stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean_, she thought,_ in the freezing cold, with a seishi who seems to be determined to make me go slowly and painfully mad._

_And, _she realized, as a gust of wind sent goose-pimples across the skin of her arms, _he now has my cloak because I actually bothered to show concern for his health! _

She shot Nakago a nasty glare and considered taking the cloak back from him – then thought better of it. The egotistical jerk would only laugh at her again – or else mock her for her weakness. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she was cold.

Besides, he couldn't use his chi, so he actually _needed_ the cloak, whereas she would be fine if only she could finish drying her tunic and skirt, which still clung to her like a damp outer skin. Miaka called chi to her hand again, but using it to dry the dress she was wearing was more difficult than she had anticipated. She was exhausted, and the ball of chi kept flickering and threatening to go out. She had been warm a little while ago, but now the cold seemed to have settled into her bones. Her throat ached, and she could not stop shivering.

She could not suppress a longing look toward the garment draped snugly around Nakago's shoulders. As if in answer to her thoughts, Miaka saw Nakago shrug off the cloak and hold it out to her, almost mocking. For a moment, she simply stared at the proffered garment; then, with a shivering hand, she pushed it back at him.

"Don't be stupid," she said stubbornly. "I d-don't need it. It's really your cloak, anyway."

"If you recall, I gifted it to you in the forest of Kutou after we established the laughable state of its repair."

"Even now," she muttered, "you s-still manage to be a bastard. I d-don't want your cloak; you'll f-freeze to death without it, given that you can't use your chi and you aren't even w-wearing a _shirt _-"

Nakago raised an eyebrow. "If I might make a suggestion?" he said dryly.

"What?"

"Perhaps an arrangement can be reached for the duration of the night. After all, we must sleep sometime, and it would be to no purpose if the both of us were to arrive back on land frozen."

"What do you mean, an _arrangement_?" she asked warily.

Stupid, she thought a second later. Of course he could only mean the kind of arrangement necessitated by a single blanket where two half-naked enemies are forced to snuggle together for warmth like something out of a poorly-written Harlequin romance novel.

"The kind of arrangement," Nakago said dryly, with enough of a curve to his mouth to inform her of just how deeply and horribly amusing he found the situation, "that is necessitated by a single blanket, where –"

"You have a s-sick mind!" said Miaka, covering her ears with her palms and whipping her face away. "No! That is all I am going to say. No. No. _No_! I w-will not be a part of this madness. I w-would rather d-die of cold."

"Very well," said Nakago, sounding unperturbed. With a shrug, he re-adjusted the cloak across his own shoulders and resumed rowing.

Her mouth opened indignantly. Of course he would not be troubled by the thought of her freezing to death; for all his words about bringing her safely to shore! He would like as not find her death as amusing to the thought of her humiliation were they to share close sleeping quarters half-naked under a cloak that wasn't even particularly warm anyway. She snorted to hide her red cheeks and tried, once more, to call chi into her palms.

"My offer still stands, Miko," he said, when fifteen more minutes had passed in stubborn silence.

"I think I need to get a bit c-colder first, thanks all the same." Getting cold was like getting drunk. Her vision seemed to be blurring slightly, and it was getting harder and harder to enunciate words with any kind of accuracy. Ordinarily that would have concerned her, but her emotions were growing strangely numb, as though the cold had penetrated and frozen those, too. She could feel the beat of her heart in her chest; it skipped weirdly. Her burnt hand was the only part of her body that was warm.

"If I might make another suggestion?" said Nakago.

She shot him a glare; he looked perfectly comfortable, and in that moment she despised him utterly.

"If it involves stripping my wet clothes off in f-front of you, you can go straight to Hell," she said, trying and failing to hide her shivers. "I'm sure T-Tenkou would be _ecstatic_ to see you."

"If you are not wedded to the idea of freezing for the sake of principle," Nakago said pleasantly, "I might suggest that you use the objects of power to warm yourself; they might be able to enhance your chi."

Her mouth opened. How had she not thought of that?

"I'm surprised you didn't think of it before now," he said, maddeningly.

"I'm s-surprised I didn't think of b-blasting you out of existence before now," she said snidely. "Funny how we tend to lose track of the important things sometimes."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat, trying to pull power forth again. The chill seemed to radiate up her chest, causing her teeth to chatter mercilessly. Her hand stabbed with pain. The red glow in her palm flickered and died before it could even reach the scepter. Her mouth opened, and she closed her eyes, preparing to call power forth again, but before she could, a wave of dizziness sent her reeling toward the bottom of the raft.

-v-

Nakago saw her fall to the floor of the raft, felt the raft lurch dangerously as she caught herself. Frowning, Nakago drew closer. The Suzaku no miko struggled up weakly, trying to push his hand away. "I'm f-fine," she muttered.

"Indeed? You do not look fine."

A quick examination confirmed his suspicions; the miko's skin was abnormally chill; the slight glaze in her eyes was not a good sign. He called on his sixth sense to examine her and quickly concluded that her chi was all but exhausted. Surely she could not have used up her powers so quickly – and yet, she was showing signs of exhaustion eerily similar to the time she had fainted trying to heal him in Souen.

For a moment, he was mystified. She had only used her chi to dry a single cloak and warm herself a little – it was not like she had fought off an army or performed an extensive work of healing –

_Or encased someone in a chi barrier for the better part of the night, _his mind supplied sardonically. _Or almost drowned in a koi pond – _

Then it hit him. She _had_ been hurt that night – almost hurt very seriously. He remembered lightning arcing through the air, engulfing the ship in eye-dazzling brightness as it struck the scepter of Kutou. The miko's palms were still raw and red and blistered from where they had clutched the scepter.

_The lightning would have killed any ordinary human. It ought to have killed her_, _but her powers saved her life. _But her near escape had taken its toll, and now, her powers were all but gone. And it didn't help that she had been wasting chi all evening – a consequence of her own stubborn pride, and his goading –

Ruthlessly, Nakago began stripping her of her still-wet outer garments. At this, some of the miko's spark seemed to return. She yelped as he tried to relieve her of her tunic and tried to slap him, but her aim was off and her hand found only empty air. "W-what are you d-doing?" she demanded. Despite her chattering teeth and the paleness of her cheeks, she was able to summon a glare that was one part fierce, two parts alarmed.

"Saving your life," Nakago said acerbically, "although I suppose summoning an ounce of gratitude is beyond your capacity at the moment."

Irritation filled him like smoke in a burning house. The miko's obdurate pride could have killed her. She had repeatedly refused the offer of a cloak – _her own cloak_ – out of sheer stubbornness. And she had even tried to transfer some of her chi to him – the same chi which she was now entirely lacking –

His fury was partially directed at himself as well. Nakago could not help thinking that he ought to have recognized the signs that her chi was diminished far sooner. He had had enough experience with diminished chi in recent weeks to have become adept at recognizing the signs. And, after the incident in the forest, when the miko had almost died attempting to heal him, it was unbelievable that she might again overtire herself in his presence. He had been lulled into security by her sharp remarks to him – hardly the replies of a sick woman. Now, he suspected she had been using her chi to keep the signs of illness at bay – probably unconsciously.

Miaka muttered something that might have included the words "arrogant jerk" and "insufferable bastard" and tried to push Nakago away, entirely ineffectually. Nakago felt his fury fade a little. Not for the first time, he marveled at how absurdly obstinate she was. Or perhaps, the irrational behavior she displayed now was simply another symptom of her exposure to the cold. Her speech was slightly slurred, as though even her lips were too numb to form proper sentences. Even her movements were slow, which was not a good sign – but it did make the task of removing her sodden clothes significantly easier.

He stripped off her skirt and tunic, ignoring her weak protests. The sword belt and mirror he looped around his own waist, insurance against them tumbling overboard while they slept.

When he was done, she stared at him with wide eyes, disoriented and shivering clad in nothing but her underclothes. Vague memories surfaced from Nakago's past life, and he could not help, in a detached, peripheral way, comparing the priestess of the Shijintenchisho to the miko of now. In the silvery moonlight, the miko seemed thinner than she had been, as though the tragedy of Tamahome's death and their hard journey had stripped away much of her former softness. Or, perhaps, it was not that she was thinner, but simply older – more fleshed out in the places that ought to have been full. _She is no longer a child, _Nakago realized suddenly. The priestess of Suzaku was entirely a woman.

Then – as if to give lie to his conclusion – Miaka shifted her face to better look at him, and the helplessness and the blunt confusion in her eyes, combined with the thinness of her frame, made her suddenly seem very young.

"Lie down," Nakago said, placing a guiding hand on her shoulder. Still shivering, the miko slowly lay down upon the raft. She still wore the necklace of the Emperor of Hokkan, and it twinkled and glittered softly in the starlight. Once again, Nakago was struck by its eerie similarity to the Shinzhao-Pao of the Genbu no Miko. But of course, the necklace was this-world's counterpart to the Shinzhao-Pao – so they ought to look similar –

He began to lower himself down beside her, drawing the cloak over both of them. But his glance toward the necklace seemed to have jarred an unpleasant memory in the miko. She shuddered violently, and terror flickered through her eyes.

"No," she whispered, putting a protective hand across the necklace, her expression almost panicked. "I won't let you – _no!_"

_Hokkan_, he thought. At Hokkan, _he_ had been wearing the Shinzhao-Pao, but she had also been wearing a necklace – a different necklace, a necklace made of acorns, which he had broken –

She cringed away from him, a slight sob escaping her lips. Her frigid hands shoved, ineffectually, at his chest.

"Miaka," he snapped. "Look at me."

She shuddered violently and met his eyes. Some of her confusion seemed to fade as she watched him. "N-Nakago?" she whispered. "You said m-my name. W-what's happening? I'm so confused."

"You are extremely cold," he said. The icy skin of her hands stung his chest. "This seemed to be the best solution."

"Of c-course this is… what you would come up with," she mumbled. "C-curse you… and your r-ridiculous invasions of… personal space… Exactly… like a bad n-novel…"

He did not grace her with a reply, but settled himself on top of her, until they were touching, warm to cold. It was a compromising position if ever there was one, but it would warm her the fastest – and it would be amusing to watch her reaction when she regained her senses later. As long as she didn't struggle –

But the fight seemed to be going out of the Suzaku no miko now – or perhaps she had simply reached the limits of what her exhausted body could bear – whatever the reason, she had ceased her struggling. She continued to shiver intermittently, and he tucked the edges of the cloak more firmly around the pair of them. Gradually, her chest became warmer, and color returned to her cheeks.

He shifted, so he could lie alongside her, and she opened her eyes and blinked drowsily. "Nakago?" she murmured.

"I'm still here, miko."

"You know…" she said, closing her eyes again, "when you're not being arrogant and cold, you can actually be almost nice, sometimes."

"A resounding endorsement."

She sighed and shifted, and then – to his surprise – buried her face in the place where his neck met his collarbone.

He could feel her every breath of hers tickling his collarbone, could feel the brush of her eyelashes against his neck as they fluttered. He was amused to find that – despite the cold and their ridiculous circumstances – he was almost aroused. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and she was still pressed against him snugly for warmth; his hand was on the small of her back, and he could feel the curve of her breasts pressing into him through the thin layer of cloth that still protected her modesty.

He guided his mind away from this potentially counterproductive train of thought and tried to sleep – but sleep had a habit of eluding Nakago. After ten minutes of lying awake with his eyes closed, Nakago gave up. For a time, he tried to use his sixth sense to locate their traveling companions, but he sensed no one save himself and the miko in the vicinity – and he was reluctant to use his chi to seek farther. But there might be another way to search for the answers he was seeking –

The mirror of Sairou and the sword of Konan were still looped around his waist. Something about the sword felt wrong to Nakago, but it was impossible to examine the blade from his current angle, so he filed the information away for later analysis. He had already examined the necklace and had concluded that – if it did possess god-given powers – they were not powers that he could tap into. But the mirror –

Gently, careful not to wake the miko, Nakago drew the mirror up to eye level and stared into it coolly. The lake of his childhood stared back at him, its once-green shores brown and desolate.

For a long time he stared at the lake. It bore little resemblance to the place he remembered. The houses that lined its shore had been burnt down long ago, and the trees that had survived decimation were lifeless, leafless husks. A heavy rain seemed to be falling upon the water, churning up silt and turning the water a muddy brown.

"Show me Nuriko of Konan," Nakago commanded quietly.

But rain continued to fall upon the turbulent lake, and the Empress of Konan did not appear. Nakago tried a few more commands, asking the mirror to show him their other traveling companions, specific places in Kutou and Konan – but the mirror continued to show him the lake and the surrounding Hin valley, as though in obdurate defiance of his commands.

_I suppose I will just have to hope that the other seishi will be drawn to their miko – and that the imbeciles posing as Suzaku seishi will not forget her existence again. _

He replaced the mirror and turned his attention towards examining the other thing that had been troubling him: the kudoku. Each examination used up power, power that he could scarce afford to waste – and yet, it was necessary to know his prospects.

What he saw did not please him. The foul substance had spread much farther since yesterday. Everywhere he looked, Nakago saw patches of black corruption. Its spread seemed to be accelerating – as though the more it touched, the faster it was able to corrupt. Perhaps this was one of Tenkou's malicious tricks.

By the estimate he had given the miko, he ought to have had a week left before the kudoku reached his heart. Now, Nakago wondered if he even had two days. And, if the kudoku's spread continued accelerating, he might have even less time. By his current calculations, the likelihood of their mission succeeding was slim, at best. Even if they did make land and manage to find the other seishi – assuming they hadn't drowned – they would still have to cross half of Kutou on foot – and that was presuming that the storm hadn't blown them so far off course that they made landfall back in Konan.

But no doubt that had been Tenkou's plan, when the Lord of Hell had enlisted Kaen to send the storm toward them.

As if sensing his agitation, the miko sighed, shifted, and mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep. She was fully warm now, and she breathed steadily and deeply, fully relaxed and entirely asleep. Barely an hour before, she had resisted his help with all her strength – and now, she was nestled against him trustingly, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he could kill her in a second if he chose. Her hands were tucked snugly beneath her chin, palms still raw and shiny and blistered from the lightning.

For the first time since their mission began, Nakago found himself filled with a steely, cold rage toward the lord of Hell who had brought this upon them. They had come so far, had survived demons and Suzaku seishi and Tomo's attempts to kill them. Nakago had saved the miko's life three times, twice from drowning and once from going up in smoke in the remains of her blazing house. _She _had broken and then managed to pick up the pieces of herself to return to their quest – and all for what?

A life as Tenkou's consort, until the Lord of Hell tired of her and set her aside?

There are moments in life that define us. Nakago had been having a number of moments of this nature lately but none so important as this – for, it was at this moment that Nakago finally realized that the miko's survival had actually begun to matter to him. Perhaps it was the knowledge of his impending death that caused him to be so uncharacteristically honest with himself. Odd things go through men's minds when they believe themselves about to die. Nakago might have been one of the rare few who did not fear his own death, but he was still, fundamentally human.

Nakago did not know when the miko had begun to creep under his skin, when her ridiculous antics and sharp words and fierce courage had finally succeeded in unleashing emotions that were almost as foreign to him as she was. He had embarked on this journey fully intending to use her to his best advantage, to protect her in the interests of his own future. Teaching her to use her own chi had also been to his benefit; Nakago had seen far more potential in a _trained_ miko than in a priestess utterly lacking control. Even as they had fought Tomo, he had still considered her little more than a pawn in his game.

But sometime during their journey, that had changed. Perhaps it had been in the cave, after Nakago had been stabbed by Tomo, when Nakago had ordered Miaka to leave and she had stubbornly refused him. Her spirit had intrigued him – her refusal to give up in even the direst of circumstances. He had witnessed this quality, time and again – in the cave, in their prison, even in the aftermath of the fire that destroyed her home.

In this regard, the Suzaku no miko reminded him of Taria.

But whereas Taria had allowed herself to be guided by thoughts of revenge, the miko was forgiving. That same ability to make friends easily and quickly wherever she went was also, fundamentally, linked to her tendency to see the best in people –

Even Nakago.

He had intended to hurt her, on board ship earlier that day, when she had asked about his family. He had deemed her prying into the past aspects of his life both unnecessary and irritating. He had _wanted_ to shock her with his response. Out of the corner of his eye, he had watched her face, waiting for the wash of disgust and revulsion to cross her features.

But it was not revulsion or horror that had crossed her face when she looked at him – not even pity –

Only concern.

And tonight, when she had tumbled overboard, courtesy of lightning and the absurd amount of metal on her person, Nakago had reacted on instinct, diving into the water without a second thought.

Now, adrift in the middle of the ocean, with the grim specter of his impending death hanging above him, Nakago came to one conclusion:

He would not let the miko die.

He would spend the next few days ensuring that she was in the best possible position to summon the gods. They would locate her seishi – he supposed it did not matter if he used his powers now – and set a course for the lake. Suboshi – presuming the stupid boy had survived the shipwreck – would help her to summon Seiryuu in Nakago's place. That ought to be permissible – seeing as how the gods had allowed Amiboshi to stand in for the missing seishi of Genbu.

He felt suddenly lighter, as though by accepting his own death he had somehow lifted a great weight from his mind that he hadn't even known was there. There was a purpose to his thoughts now; there was a plan; he now knew what he would do to ensure Tenkou's defeat and the miko's survival. The precise details would be worked out when they were back on the mainland.

For now, he would sleep.

He studied the face of the Suzaku no miko for a moment. She breathed deeply, sound asleep once more. Her face was serene, peaceful as it rarely was during the day. "Sleep well, Suzaku no miko," he said.

She would need all the rest she could get for the journey ahead.

* * *

**Author's note: **

Things ARE looking rather grim for Nakago, aren't they?

And, yes, I really did just write a chapter in which two enemies huddle for warmth beneath a blanket – fine, _cloak _– in the middle of an ocean. I guess it had to be done at least once in my writing career. Probably best to get the cliché out of my system now, as opposed to in an original fic ;)

Thanks to _Alcemestris, Desert Renaissance, tohru78, Gauri, Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan, Kags21,_ and _Helena_ for your reviews! You guys are the best! :)

Concrit is always greatly appreciated, so drop me a line, even if it's just "This chapter had more clichés in it than Star Wars!"

Also, just to give fair warning to y'all, I'm having surgery tomorrow, so there is a possibility that I won't be updating for awhile depending on how things turn out. Since I am taking the week off work, I suspect that, if anything, I will actually update sooner than usual because I will be home and bored out of my mind (unless of course I am feverish or in a drug-induced coma). But we'll just have to see!

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. But will Nakago make it to the lake for the summoning before the kudoku takes effect? **

It doesn't look good, does it?

**2. When will Miaka notice that the sword she has is not the one she needs?**

Eventually… she's got a lot on her mind at the moment, as you can see.

**3. This story is like a freaking emotional rollercoaster! I love it but I hate it but I love it so much I can't stop reading it!**

Hahah wow. I'm… flattered? (Although slightly concerned by the fact that your love-hate relationship with this story appears to parallel Miaka's love-hate relationship with Nakago).

**4. I would prefer no sex scenes for this story.**

Oh. Perhaps 'sex scene' wasn't quite the right word. I don't think I could actually write an _explicit_ sex scene if I tried –blushes-. And that's just not what I want the main focus of this story to be about, anyway. I was more saying 'I haven't decided if there's going to be allusions to them having sex in the story yet.' And that will depend very much on whether it fits with what I think the characters would do based on situational circumstance – but I haven't gotten that far in the writing, which is why I don't know. If there was such a scene, it would be very stylized, or at least focus more on characters/feelings than physical aspects.

**5. I can 't wait for N/M to get on with the physical stuff. **

Voila…? And more to come!

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Did the Tetsuya bits make some kind of sense? (If not, hopefully stuff will be clarified in subsequent chapters, or perhaps I can try to clarify…)

2. Nakago/Miaka parts: too much too fast? Still in character?

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Any stuff that you recognize is probably the property of Yuu Watase.


	49. The price of protection

…

** XLIX**

**The price of protection**

…

Nakago awoke to find Miaka restless. She moved against him, as though seeking warmth. Her brows creased together, as though she was perplexed, or perhaps dreaming.

He studied her face for a moment. In the pale morning light, the miko looked small and ridiculously vulnerable. Deep shadows clung to the space beneath her eyes, and the russet hair that framed her delicate features was tangled and untamed. Her left cheekbone held a smudge of dirt from being pressed against the rough wood of the raft. But she was not shivering, and her lips and face were a far healthier color than they had been last night. He felt her forehead, an almost clinical gesture. She was slightly cool to the touch but not cold; the hypothermia had passed.

As though subconsciously shying away from his examination of her features, the miko shifted again and tried to bury her face into his chest. Perhaps she was simply cold; they might have been dry now, but the chill morning air and salt spray stung his exposed flesh – as, he suspected, it did hers. At the feel of the miko's face against his bare skin, Nakago stilled. Her touch brought with it a jolt of some baser feeling that he was not accustomed to associating with the Suzaku no miko. But then Nakago was abruptly aware of the realization he had come to, the previous night – that the Suzaku no miko was decidedly _not_ a child any longer –

Of course, Nakago had toyed with Miaka's own body's responses on multiple occasions, often for his own, personal entertainment – or else simply to prove a point. Her responses to these advances had proved that – while in many ways naïve – she was not quite the innocent child who had confronted him in the tent in Hokkan. And he was well aware that she had been intimate with Tamahome during their marriage. But it is one thing to be in possession of such knowledge and quite another to internalize it fully.

She shifted again, pivoting forward so that she would have landed half on top of him, if he hadn't caught her. His eyes narrowed as he realized he wasn't immune to the way her hand was currently splayed across his chest – nor to the feel of her hips against his, for all he was still clothed beneath the waist –

_Time to put an end to this._

"Miko."

He said the word sharply, with the intent of rousing her quickly. Her eyes fluttered, butterfly-quick, and then opened. Nakago tensed, preparing to dive in if she should panic and fall off the raft – but unlike the incident three days ago, she did not leap back in horror at the sight of his face so close to hers.

"I'm thirsty," she murmured.

Water. The thought had already crossed his mind, even as he assessed the dryness in his throat, the dull ache that seemed to creep into the base of his skull. It had rained hard the previous day, but they had not thought to collect the life-giving drops that fell from the sky. Now the air was dry. They would need water.

Nakago sat up and moved to the other side of the raft. He stared out over the water, looking for signs of land. Judging by the sun's position on the horizon, it was a few hours after dawn. A couple small clouds drifted overhead.

Miaka, now coming awake fully, looked down at her clothing (or lack thereof) and blanched slightly.

"What exactly… happened last night? It's all very blurry in my head. Or at least, I think my head was very blurry last night, so it all seems very blurry now. I don't remember anything. I really want some water or something. Aren't you thirsty? I don't suppose we can make some kind of a condenser or something. Ugh, and this sun is so bright. How can you see anything at all in this _glare_ –"

"You're babbling."

He waited, not exactly tense, but prepared for an explosion. The miko shut up, staring at him as though terrified. He regarded her coolly, a little hurt by her reaction. Before he could make a cutting remark, she seemed to relax; most of the terror went out of her eyes, and she released her knuckle-white grip on the cloak she was still using as a blanket.

"Sorry," she said, and to his infinite surprise, she smiled at him. "Of course you didn't do anything."

"You are too certain of my good intentions, Miko."

"Oh, shut up," said Miaka. Ignoring him completely, she shielded her eyes against the sun. Her face turned dejected. "There's really nothing around for miles, is there? Just water and those funny gull things flying around our boat."

"Shorebirds," said Nakago, who had noticed them already. His own head ached slightly, but he nodded toward the east, where the shoreline was a very faint smudge in the distance. A casual observer would have taken it for cloud, or mirage.

The miko jumped up, so suddenly enthused that the raft almost overturned. "Let's paddle," she said, pulling off the weakest board from the end of the raft and thrusting it into the water.

Nakago could not but eye her with astonishment. She had been near death the night before, lethargic a moment ago, and suddenly, she was blazing with energy.

"I'm _thirsty_," she said, as though this explained everything. "You take the other side."

-v-

The night before had been cold. Now, in the bright midday sun, it was sweltering. From time to time, Miaka paused to douse her face in seawater, grimacing as the salt in the water inflamed her already-painful blisters. She ached from paddling (though of course she would not tell Nakago this).

She couldn't help glancing occasionally at the former shogun of Kutou. She _still_ couldn't remember what had happened the night before; she hadn't been lying when she'd told Nakago her memories were a blur. She had the sense that something important had happened, but not something bad.

She had felt a rush of terror when she'd realized she was only partly clothed. For some reason, she now felt horribly guilty about it. She _knew_ Nakago wouldn't do anything. She trusted Nakago. He was honorable, in his own way. He had had plenty of opportunity to do lots of nasty things to her while they were alone en route to Konan. And he hadn't – not once.

Nakago must have _seen _the terrified way she had reacted to him after waking. Maybe that was why he hadn't made one of his 'Oh yes, it was a _very_ pleasant night; you truly don't remember it?' remarks. She had been bracing herself against onslaught earlier, waiting to hear those words come out of his mouth. Now, Miaka wondered if her display of mistrust had offended him horribly. She recalled the stiff way he had looked at her afterwards. And he seemed unusually pensive as they rowed to shore.

Guilt made her be extra-nice to Nakago as they drew close to land. She could have asked for a rest, but she didn't, though her entire body ached.

Still, she couldn't resist remarking, a little triumphantly, after they made land:

"You've a sunburn, on your back."

It made her feel so much better to know he was human.

He shot her a wordless, sardonic look that was almost a glare and walked away without speaking. She sighed, feeling guilty once more. She probably was sunburned too.

They left the raft on the shore and proceeded to walk down the shoreline. Luckily, they only had to walk down the shore a slight ways before they found a trickle of rainwater, the remains of a stream from the previous day's squall. Miaka gulped it down, not even caring that you were really supposed to boil stream water before drinking it. The water improved both their moods slightly, though quenching her thirst only served to remind Miaka of how hungry she was.

The clouds were rolling in as they came across a boy digging for crabs in the sand. Miaka, who had taken it upon herself to do the talking, greeted him with a soft, "Hi."

"Do you happen to know if there's a village or something near here?" she asked quickly, as he looked at her. "Only we're sort of lost –"

The boy, who looked about seven, was able to point them toward a small village tucked into the side of the coastline. They had no money, but Miaka was very earnest, and the townspeople were sympathetic to the plight of two newlyweds who were shipwrecked far from home. From the townspeople, they were able to get provisions enough for a days' walk. They learned that they were in Kutou, quite near the Konan border. This town had not even heard of the demons, but it was well-hidden. (Miaka would not have noticed the village had the young boy not pointed them toward it).

"You haven't seen any other travelers come through here?" Miaka asked anxiously. "No one else has been stranded on the beach?"

But no – the villagers had not heard any word of Tasuki or Nuriko or the others – and so, dejectedly, Miaka turned to follow Nakago up the beach again.

It was well after midday. Nakago seemed to possess an innate grasp of the lay of the land – at least, he did not hesitate in selecting a direction – and, as they set out for the low cliffs to the south, he barely even paused to get his bearings. Miaka was grateful – it all looked like rocks to her – rocks and barren shoreline.

"There's something I don't understand," Miaka said presently. "If Tenkou is so keen on capturing me alive, why did he attack us with the storm yesterday?"

"No doubt he meant to delay us," said Nakago.

"How much _have_ we been set back?" It was a question she'd wanted to ask ever since waking, but something – fear, perhaps – had caused her to hesitate. "We still have the objects of power –"

"Hm."

Nakago's tone was noncommittal, almost carefully so. In the daylight, he had had more time to study the sword that was buckled round the miko's waist. He knew that the weapon she carried was false; more importantly, he could guess who actually held the sword of Konan. It was painfully obvious when you took a close look at the blade it had been switched with. But it was unnecessary for her to know the truth at this moment_._ It would only disturb her. So he said nothing on the subject, but walked on.

After a moment, the miko said:

"Do you suppose the others are alive?"

Nakago could answer that one; he had used the time while they had been resting by the stream to conduct a quick search of the area. He had discerned a large group of her seishi nearby, a mere day's walk away, on the other side of the mountain ridge. He might have gone further, determined which seishi were gathered beyond the ridge, but Nakago had stopped short of a detailed examination. Though he had expended the minimal amount of power possible, the search had left him tired, and the long stop at the sea-village, which Nakago normally would have termed an unnecessary delay, had almost come as a relief.

But the miko did not need to know that either.

"They are alive," he said calmly, stepping across a small tide pool and gazing up at the ridge that loomed ahead of them.

Miaka's head whipped towards Nakago. She registered the way he had barely hesitated over the words. Nakago had known, all this time, and had not told her? She felt momentarily indignant.

But Miaka's annoyance was quickly replaced by alarm. "Ought you to be sensing them at all?" she demanded. "Your powers –"

"It takes barely any power to sense chi, miko."

Miaka frowned. She had the nagging suspicion Nakago was hiding something from her – something important. But her relief at knowing that the others were still alive overshadowed any worry she felt about Nakago at present. "Where are they?" she asked eagerly. "How far?"

"We should reach them by nightfall, barring any egregious complications." He paused, and then added reluctantly, "The lake is a three days' journey from here."

Miaka felt suddenly brighter. _We had a week and a half left before we left Eiyou,_ she thought – for, of course, she still knew nothing of Nakago's realization the previous night. _We left Eiyou four days ago. That means we have about a week left before the kudoku takes Nakago. We might actually still have a chance!_

Feeling suddenly lighter, Miaka grinned. "Race you to the ridge," she said and took off, leaving a startled Nakago behind.

-v-

The clouds opened up on them just before they reached the ridge, dropping their contents on the two travelers with almost indecent enthusiasm. Miaka, now regretting her hasty sprint toward the cliffs, lagged behind in an attempt to recover her breath, until Nakago ordered her to go first up the narrow path toward the top of the ridge. Soon enough, she was glad for this. Doused with water, the rocks were slippery and treacherous. Once, Miaka slipped and might have fallen badly, had not Nakago caught her.

"Avoid the rocks," Nakago said unsympathetically, dragging her back onto her feet.

"There are puddles everywhere else. I've already fallen into them twice!"

"Then it shouldn't matter if you step in some more."

_I must be nice, _Miaka thought, rubbing her scraped shin, trying not to think about the squish-squish-squish her sodden shoes made whenever she took a step, or the way her bangs dripped miserably into her eyes. _I will not stomp in puddles, even if it would splash mud all over Nakago's trouser legs, which are a lot less wet than mine!_

What was up with Nakago anyway? Something about the way he was acting seemed _off_, though Miaka was at a complete loss as to _how_ the Seiryuu seishi was acting differently. He seemed more focused somehow – if it was possible for Nakago to be _more _focused – and there was a kind of urgency to his actions that she had not noticed before. She had long since decided that she would never fully understand him, but she wondered if his unusual mood had something to do with the kudoku. They really were cutting an unusually fast pace.

She glanced behind her again. What she saw worried her slightly. His face was very pale – almost as pale as it had been right after he'd received his wound back in Konan. If not for the rain, she was sure she would have seen a thin sheen of sweat dotting his brow.

It suddenly struck her that Nakago must be exhausted. After all, with his exposure to the storm – and he hadn't even had his powers then – and he had been rowing last night and this morning, and they had already walked a long ways that day, and he probably hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, if she had been as sick as he described. And on top of all that, he was fighting the kudoku. Any ordinary man would be exhausted. And if Nakago was exhausted, the kudoku would only spread faster, percolating his body like a cancer –

"Let's stop to rest," she said, suddenly suspicious.

He nodded. His quiet acquiescence – when they had only been traveling an hour – concerned her far more than anything else that day. Miaka frowned.

The ground was too wet for her to collapse down on it, so she leaned against the nearest rock and sipped from the canteen provided by the villagers. When she looked at Nakago, she saw that his back was to a tree; his eyes were closed, his arms folded. Miaka swallowed the rest of her water and replaced her canteen.

"It's the kudoku, isn't it?" she asked bluntly.

He didn't reply.

"We ought to move slower," she said.

"No."

She was almost worried by the vehemence of his response. Was he implying that they needed to move faster because the kudoku was spreading? Or did he have some other reason in mind? What secrets was he hiding from her?

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, concerned.

"No," he said curtly.

Miaka took a step back at the obvious rebuff in his voice. Her eyes narrowed. "I see," she said slowly.

_I think I do see._

Anger was filling her, fizzling through her veins like hot blood. _A proud man doesn't know his own limits. _Nakago was the sort of person who would die before he ever asked for help. Back in the cave, after she had stabbed him, he had practically told her not to help him. And that was when he had been in Death's foyer, his life bleeding out across the floor of the cave!

She strode toward Nakago and slapped him lightly, not hard enough to hurt, but certainly forcibly enough to get his attention. He opened his eyes and looked at her incredulously, and she clenched her jaw and said:

"Dammit, Nakago, you're not making this easy!"

She took him by the arm, sorely torn between shaking him and slapping him a second time. The fact that he was currently watching her with a combination of irony and scorn did not help her temper. "If you heard everything that passed between Soi and me in the cave – and everything you said at the meeting in Konan suggests to me you did – then you'll know all about how I promised Soi I'd protect you."

"And just how are you proposing to _protect_ me?"

Was it _amusement_ she heard in his voice now? If anything, his casual treatment of her offer infuriated her further. Her grip on his arm tightened. "I have chi. You need chi." Her tones were clipped, angry."This should not be difficult."

Even as she summoned her powers, he was moving away, pulling her hand off his arm like a farmer removing a husk from an ear of corn.

"I told you last night. That method will not work. You will only exhaust your strength to no purpose."

"Fine," said Miaka tightly – and before she could lose her nerve, she reached up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

-v-

Nakago stood frozen, the strength of his own disbelief rendering him momentarily immobile. Not for the first time, the Suzaku no miko had managed to completely astonish him. Her lips against his were firm, determined, but he could still sense a slight uncertainty about her kiss, as though a part of her was as surprised by it as he was.

She shifted, perhaps slightly unnerved by his utter lack of a response. He felt her reach out tendrils of chi to him across their connection, felt her try to force him to accept them. _Not today, Suzaku no miko_, he thought mirthlessly. If she shared chi with him, there was a chance that she could get trapped by the kudoku as well, and that would endanger her – not to mention being wholly _irksome_ to explain to her other seishi. He was not going to take that risk.

And so he took control, rejecting her chi, forcing it back at her. He doubted she noticed it though, as he caressed her lips gently, delicately with his own. And when he placed his hands on her shoulders – turned them so that now _her_ back was against the tree, her head framed against the bark stained dark with rain – she gasped slightly and whimpered, and all thoughts of power and chi transfer seemed to leave her mind entirely.

By the principles of common sense, he ought to have stopped there. Instead, Nakago deepened the kiss. Perhaps it was Miaka's soft cry that caused the sharp flare of desire that pushed him on, past the boundaries that logic dictated. Perhaps his own exhaustion was leading to slips in control. Or perhaps it was the feel of the miko's chest against his – the light brush of her hands on his sides – her instant response to his each touch and movement. Despite his fatigue, Nakago felt a surge of satisfaction as he trailed his hands down the curve of the miko's back, pressing her closer to him – until their damp hair mingled on the shoulder of her cloak – until he could feel every vibration as she trembled –

Then, only then, did he force himself to pull away.

She remained against the tree as though dazed. Her wide eyes stared up at him with something close to bewilderment. With a trace of satisfaction, Nakago noted her swollen lips, the soft flush that darkened her cheeks, the quick rise and fall of her chest as she drew in a ragged gulp of air.

Even as he took in these details, a coldly rational portion of Nakago's mind was already calculating, weighing his next move with a kind of detached logic. The thought came to him as if from a distance: he needed to hurt her. Strike at the miko _now_, with a gesture so dreadful, so _cruel_, that she would never again consider trying what she had just attempted –

Miaka stood, transfixed, staring up at Nakago with wide eyes the color of amber. Her mind was wholly, entirely numb. _Nakagojustkissedme, _she thought, and she might have pinched herself, except her limbs seemed to be acting like jelly, outside of her conscious control. _I tried to kiss Nakago, but he just kissed me – he just __**kissed**__ me – that __**wasn't supposed to happen **__– _

"Speechless, Suzaku no miko?"

She was still confused, still trapped in the stupefied haze induced by their recent encounter, but Miaka nonetheless caught the harsh, mocking note in Nakago's voice. It grated against her nerves like a discordant note in a melodic chorus. She was suddenly struck with foreboding.

"I –" she whispered, but her treacherous voice seemed to fail her – he was leaning in close to her ear, distracting her utterly. She coughed and tried again. "I –"

"Enjoying yourself? I can tell…" (She trembled as he leaned in closer, so close that his lips almost brushed her ear). " – from the way you shiver – the way your pulse races, the way you lean closer – and when I do _this –_" He trailed a finger across the skin of her arm, and she jumped, staring up at him with hurt eyes, but still she was unable to speak; still she watched him as one mesmerized. "That dazed confusion you feel – also a symptom of desire – sentences half-formed – words losing themselves before reaching your lips – Of course you are conflicted, because you cannot help comparing our most recent encounter to the pleasures your former lover bestowed on you –"

Nakago watched the miko carefully, noting the way she stiffened at the mention of her dead husband. He was surprised by the glimmer of indecision that touched him briefly, although he _knew_ what he did now was the most reasonable course of action. Bringing up Tamahome was the most efficient way to land the final blow; the miko was already well on her way to putting Tamahome's death behind her, so his remarks would not damage her as they would have two weeks ago. She would suffer no permanent damage; and what he did now would ensure that she did not ever attempt to give him _chi_ in that way again. What he did now was to her own benefit – any hesitation on his part was purely illogical – irrational – a product of sentiment, nothing more.

So he chuckled low in his throat, and, holding her close, he said the words he'd been meaning to say from the beginning.

"For a moment just now you allowed yourself to sink into feeling. You permitted yourself to forget the existence of your dearly departed – perhaps even his _name. _I wish I could see his face now – it would be so _amusing _to witness the look in his eyes as he witnessed his hated enemy seducing the wife he so dearly adored –"

Breath catching in her throat, Miaka flinched sharply. She would have drawn back from him, were it not for the combination of the oak tree and Nakago's arm, both of which were pinning her firmly in place.

Nakago held her there a moment longer, glaring into her eyes. He felt what might have been a flicker of guilt as she watched him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open – and then, her eyes were narrowing, and the shock on her face was quickly replacing itself with hot rage. She opened her mouth to speak, but this time her own outrage made the words catch in her throat, and Nakago – who had by now succeeded in clamping down on all traces of emotion – was able to cut her off coldly.

"I do not require your help, Suzaku no miko, much less your _protection_. And I would encourage you to recall the outcome of your last brush with Tenkou before you considered _playing with fire_ again."

He released her.

Miaka almost stumbled. Nakago sensed her chi flaring with something that might have been anger, or shock, or deep unhappiness. But unlike past times, it did not blaze erratically, out of control. With fascination, Nakago watched the miko reel in her rage, watched her gain control of her chi until its distressed flickers were barely noticeable.

At last, she turned toward him. Instead of fury, he was shocked to see a strange combination of sadness and exhaustion in her eyes, mixed in with an emotion that might have been disappointment.

"His name," she said quietly, "is Tamahome."

She turned away from him.

"Let's go," she said.

They did not speak for the rest of the afternoon.

-v-

They took no more breaks after that, but kept a steady pace as they made their way over the ridge. By the time they reached the downward slope, every inch of Miaka's body was sodden, and she was starting to shiver. How unlucky would it be – she wondered glumly – if she were to contract hypothermia two straight nights in a row?

From time to time, she could not stop herself from glancing at Nakago, who walked behind her with a steady, unruffled composure. It had been hours since the kiss, yet her lips still tingled, and her back still remembered the warmth of his hands.

She could remember the time he had kissed her in Hokkan – and, again, in Sairou. His kisses then had been cruel, designed to force her into submission, or else to toy with her emotions.

The kiss today had been different. It had been gentle – shockingly, excruciatingly, unbearably _gentle_ – in a way that seemed completely at odds with Nakago the warrior. It had derailed her from her objective completely, had left her gasping and – strangely – close to tears.

Had it really all been an act? The kiss had been so completely at odds with his words shortly afterwards that Miaka had no idea what to think. And yet, Nakago was a supreme manipulator, an expert at toying with the emotions of others. It would not surprise her if he was trying to throw her off balance. The one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that he had shut her out, had rejected her offer of help that afternoon as effectively as if he had slammed a door in her face.

And on top of that, he had tried to make her angry by bringing up Tamahome. She _had_ been angry, furious even – _See if I ever try to help you again, you ungrateful bastard! _– until she had realized that, if Nakago was actually manipulating her, those were probably the exact sort of thoughts he wanted her to think…

_It's not fair. _Tiredly, she shook her head. _I'm a girl. If anyone's entitled to be confusing, it's __**me**__, not him. _

By the time they arrived back in civilization, Miaka's brain had succeeded in thoroughly tying itself into knots. She tried to avoid making eye contact as she held the door for Nakago at what seemed the only inn in the entire village, and she busied herself with her wet cloak as the pair of them trudged inside wetly. Her mental turmoil had caused her to all but forget Nakago's earlier promise that they would reach the other seishi by nightfall. It was only after an acerbic "We seem to have rejoined your fan club" from Nakago that she realized they were not the inn's only guests that night.

She saw Nuriko first and flung herself across the room to greet her friend. "Whoa, there," said Nuriko, who looking pleased, despite the mud that was now plastered across the base of her tunic.

Miaka looked over Nuriko's shoulder. "Tasuki! Subaru! _Amiboshi_!"

Nuriko, after disentangling herself from Miaka, amused herself by watching Nakago watch Miaka fling herself at Amiboshi. _Oh dear, what _have_ we here,_ she thought.

Tasuki, who looked disappointed to see Nakago still in one piece, said: "Ya survived!" He somehow managed to send a grin in Miaka's direction while the other side of his face graced Nakago with a fearsome scowl.

"Are you all right?" said Amiboshi, as Miaka released him. Miaka tried not to think about how desperately relieved he looked to see her.

"More importantly, do ya still have all the artifacts?" said Tasuki. "OW!" he said, as Subaru smacked him. "Gods, woman," he muttered. "I was _kidding!_"

"You are just like my husband," Subaru said briskly.

"I ain't nothin' in the world like that #%#-faced old pervert!" He rounded on Miaka. "Well?"

It took awhile for Miaka to assure them that she did indeed have all the artifacts, that she was still in one piece, and that Nakago had not done anything nefarious to her in the day and a half they'd been alone together. After that was over, Nuriko made her recount every single detail about what had transpired since she had disappeared off the edge of the ship, which took another half hour (not to mention some serious glossing over of humiliating events). After _that_, she had to ask Subaru to recount what had happened to the others when the lightning struck. This turned out to be a mistake, since Subaru was still sore about the loss of her cooking supplies, which she had not managed to save from the drowning boat.

By the time Subaru was done, Miaka was almost wishing for the quiet afternoon she had spent trekking through sodden underbrush in Nakago's company. Having everyone talk at her all at once after the past few days' silence was overwhelming. She had to fight the urge to snap at Tasuki, who was alternately dropping complaints about Nakago's presence and reassuring her that he wouldn't do anything to Nakago as long as the nasty bastard didn't do anything untoward to her. When the innkeeper starting yelling at one of his workers for not serving fast enough, Miaka actually covered her ears.

"Are you all right, Miaka?" said Amiboshi.

She wondered where he had been. "I'm fine," she said with a smile.

Nakago said:

"Your clothes are still damp. I will not save you if you catch hypothermia again."

There was water in his hair, as though he had been out in the rain. Miaka blinked, and then stared back and forth between Nakago and Amiboshi. Nuriko, she realized, also looked mildly damp. Come to think of it, she could not recall seeing the three of them for at least fifteen minutes.

"Where –" she began, but she was cut off by Nuriko's horrified screech of "_You caught hypothermia?_" – and, as Nakago had no-doubt intended, she leapt to her feet and began to fuss worriedly over the state of Miaka's clothing.

"No!" Miaka said loudly and unconvincingly, trying to push her away. "I'm fine!"

Amiboshi extricated her from Nuriko's worried clucking. "If we're done interrogating Miaka and Nakago, do you think we ought to get them some dinner? They must be starving if they've been traveling all day."

Miaka shot him a grateful look. She couldn't help but notice Nakago's lip curling slightly in Amiboshi's direction. _What is he thinking now? _she wondered with irritation. If he was going to powwow outside the inn with Amiboshi and Nuriko and leave her to the clutches of Tasuki and Subaru, he had no right to start sneering if she – gods forbid! – smiled at some of her friends.

There were only five of them, she realized. Nakago, Nuriko, Tasuki, Subaru, and of course, Amiboshi, who was beckoning the innkeeper over to bring her food. It struck her suddenly that some faces were missing, that they had surely left the ship with more people – and that was not even counting the sailors.

"Where's Kaen?" Miaka asked slowly. "And Suboshi? What happened to them?"

* * *

**Author's note: **Well, that was another fun chapter. First (or possibly second, depending on how you look at it) kiss of the story! And only 49 chapters in... . And of course, suddenly Nakago has become very protective… in his own, emotionally unique sort of way!

Big thanks to _Desert Renaissance, Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan, Honey, Gauri92, tohru78, Almecestris, _and _Helena_ for your reviews! As always, you guys are awesome (and also one of the reasons I posted this chapter so quickly).

Concrit is greatly appreciated, so leave me a line, even if it's just "This chapter was more perverted than a lecherous grandpa!" or "Are you sure you don't need to have your mind cleaned out with soap?"

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. I am quite skeptical of this little raft. It seems ridiculously stable, considering it is only the size of a bed. Also, why would there not be any other debris?**

Because it was a cliched plot device created by the author to indulge in her absurd flights of fancy? XD Yes, I freely admit that the physics of such a raft would probably make it very tippy and therefore Miaka and Nakago would probably be sitting in water half the time. But lots of physically impossible stuff occurs on the high seas! Just look at all the crazy stuff that goes on in Pirates of the Caribbean.

**2. "Bastard" seems like a pet-term at this point.**

Pretty much :)

**3. So Nakago finally sees her as a woman. And calls her by her given name. Yes! Only 48 chapters in... it was worth the wait, though!**

Yay! Glad you think so.

**4. Did Tenkou change the rules, somehow? And that's how he got into the book, or something? **

Yes, Tenkou did change the rules. Further chapters will detail exactly how this happened…

**5. I had no idea Tetsuya was so scholarly! **

Me neither! At least, not until I started writing his character. I think my inner geek spontaneously decided I needed a fellow geek in this story…

**6. I hope your surgery went well.**

It went quite well, thank you! I'm pretty pleased with my brand new heart valve.

**7. Will there be drama when they find out that the sword's been replaced?**

When Miaka and the other seishi figure it out, yes. Nakago knows, of course, but since Suboshi isn't present, Nakago just doesn't see the point of wasting time and energy being angry with the little #$# right now. He's all about conserving strength and trying to maximize the probability of Miaka making it out alive. (Aww.)

**8. Please tell me Nakago is not going to die from the kudoku?**

I ain't promisin' nothin'. Especially since… I haven't actually physically written most of the ending yet. (But that said, and perhaps contrary to what the somewhat angsty initial tone of this story might imply, I don't generally like sad endings in the things I read).

**9. I had really thought Miaka would be the first one to completely realize her dependency on Nakago, but he's accepted that she matters to him a lot, whereas she doesn't know yet what he means to her.**

Interesting of you to point this out! Two thoughts. First, Tamahome's death was pretty recent, and that would obviously be much more of a barrier to Miaka accepting Nakago's importance to her. I guess you could argue that Soi also died recently – but that was rather different. While I'm pretty sure Nakago loved Soi, he had pretty much accepted that Soi in this world was a different person, and they were never lovers on the same level that Miaka and Tamahome were lovers. So that's my first thought. My second thought is that Nakago has saved Miaka's life (read: almost lost her) a bunch of times now and been forced to confront the panic and relief associated with that, which has probably helped his realization process. Whereas, back when Nakago almost died, Miaka still saw him as barely more than an ally – of course, she didn't want him to die, but she didn't feel quite the same pure, overwhelming relief when he survived as she would if the same thing were to happen now. But yes. Miaka will realize… eventually…

**10. This might sound a bit rude but I hope you get bored, that way, Protected will be updated and so will my Fanfiction-drugged life!**

No offense taken. And, as you can see, I updated... so hopefully you'll get your 'fix'. XD

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. The kiss scene. Was it believable? Did it live up to your expectations? (I have little experience writing such scenes, so I am quite curious). Was Nakago way too much of a bastard to Miaka afterwards?

-v-

Disclaimer: If I actually owned these characters, I would not be writing fanfiction about them. I would be exploiting them and using them to make money.


	50. Messing with the rules

…

**L**

**Messing with the rules**

…

It was almost four in the afternoon and they were still at the library. Tetsuya's head was starting to droop.

Earlier, he had been so excited by his idea that it was all he could do to prevent himself from gleefully texting Keisuke then and there. Only Yui had stopped him. Yui, ever calm and rational (and ever-so-slightly annoyed that Tetsuya had managed to find something before her) had put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he _really_ wanted to deal with an awake Keisuke right now. "Why don't you come up with more evidence," she had said, calmly handing him a sandwich (he had forgotten to eat lunch). "And then we'll tell him all the things we've found when he wakes up this afternoon."

Tetsuya had set to work with abandon, entirely certain that he was on the right track. He had _felt _it, a flash of brilliance, of giddy inspiration, in that moment when he had had his Idea. This was It. This was Why. He was almost positive that he was right.

Except that so far, he had come up with nothing. No book in the library seemed to have suggestions for how the laws of nature might be changed. Pure science was all about _observing _the laws of nature, not modifying it for one's own use, and the applied sciences like engineering all worked within the confines of the basic laws that already existed. _Bo-ring_, thought Tetsuya, sending them carelessly into the 'Not Helpful' pile. There were the wicca books, which described Western magic and sorcery, but even _these_ seemed to reside upon a few sets of basic assumptions which remained constant from text to dusty text.

Did people have _no imagination_? Had no one even _thought_ about engineering on this scale – on the scale of worlds and universes?

To make matters worse, Yui's cell phone had rung sometime around four o' clock. She had muted it quickly and ran outside (before the librarian, who had eyes like a hawk and ears like an unsated fruit bat, could start on her rant about insolent teenagers). A few minutes later, Yui had returned, looking grim, and muttering that she had to leave.

"What?" said Tetsuya, shocked. "But you've still got that whole stack of newspapers –"

Yui shot him a glare. Tetsuya closed his mouth quickly.

"It seems," Yui said, "that my parents are home two days early, and they aren't all that pleased to find Keisuke fast asleep in the guest room, and me out of the house, and they're demanding some kind of explanation, and apparently I need to go home _now_ –"

"I can come and explain that he's harmless?"

"No, that will only make it worse. It should be all right with some explaining; I'm good friends with Miaka and they _know_ he's her brother and he's been having a rough time at his house, with Mrs. Yuuki upset, and –" Yui paled. "– Oh, _damn_, I wonder if they've seen the coffee cabinet yet –"

"Here," said Tetsuya, handing Yui a couple of crumpled ¥5000 notes. "This ought to cover it."

"Thanks. You stay here – and _keep reading The Book! _Call me if anything happens. Hopefully I'll be back by this evening, or Keisuke will come help you."

She hurried out with hardly a backward glance, and Tetsuya was left staring forlornly after her.

_Keep reading The Book,_ Yui had said.

Except both of them had been too busy to keep up with The Universe of the Four Gods that afternoon. The last time they had checked The Book – Tetsuya suddenly realized – was at lunchtime, just before his Great Idea. Why, days worth of events could have happened since then!

Tetsuya picked up The Book and hurriedly flipped to the last page, where writing was appearing in slow, careful script. He quickly caught up with the most recent events – the lightning storm, the ship's capsize, Miaka's rescue, hypothermia, and recovery. The thought of Keisuke's reaction to the idea of Nakago and Miaka trapped on a boat in the middle of the sea made him want to both wince and smile. He supposed he ought to be a bit more bothered by the principle of the thing, especially on Keisuke's behalf – but Nakago of this world had proved himself honorable thus far (in his own, peculiar manner). Was it wrong to give him the benefit of the doubt?

Like Yui, Tetsuya was a fast reader, and the slow pace with which words appeared in The Book bothered him. He sat staring at The Book for a moment, tapping the page with his thumb and waiting to see if the priestess and her seishi would safely reach shore. The blank page of The Book stared balefully back.

"All right, fine," said Tetsuya. "I give up; _BE_ slow."

He was about to turn back to his research, when he suddenly remembered how he had scribbled in The Book earlier that morning, when he was searching for a working pen. Perhaps, Tetsuya thought guiltily, he ought to assess the extent of the damage before Yui or Keisuke got their hands on it again.

If there was one rule that Tetsuya had been taught from an early age, it was respect for books. His father, who was a chemist, hadn't much cared whether Tetsuya the child talked back to him – which had often made for stimulating and fascinating dinner table conversations. However, lay a grease-stained finger on Atsushi Kajiwara's copy of Principles of Biochemistry by Lehninger and Tetsuya's father would erupt into a terrifying rage.

So it was with some caution that Tetsuya handled The Book now. He turned the pages gingerly, searching both sides for damage. It was only as he approached the end that he began to feel confused. He had thought he'd placed his scribble much closer to the middle of The Book, perhaps a few pages down from the place where words were still making their slow appearance. But here he was, at the end of The Book, and he still hadn't found his scribble –

He turned again at the page in The Book where words were appearing. Tetsuya's eyes narrowed. He shifted in his chair and took the page between his fingers, holding it up to the light.

The _line – _the indentation his pen had made against the page – was visible. If Tetsuya squinted he could – just barely – make out the slight depression his pen had made against the fiber of the page. Long and zig-zaggy and sprawling.

But the _ink_ was gone.

Something very _odd_ was going on here.

Perhaps no less odd than his best friend's sister getting sucked into a magic book and being told that she had to summon a god, and then managing to merge two worlds together, getting entangled with demons, and – oh yes – somehow becoming responsible for the fate of the world. All the while having her every movement very slowly and poetically recorded in said magic book.

But still.

Odd.

And Odd Things, Tetsuya's father would have said, demanded Experimentation.

Carefully, Tetsuya lowered his one working pen to the page.

_Bad idea!_ his mind screamed. In fact, a reserved, safe, and cautious part of him was yelling at him to _Stop, now, before you do something unforgivably stupid!_

"Oh, come on," he said aloud, receiving a couple odd looks from a couple of nearby premeds. Tetsuya lowered his voice and glared at the blank page. "Seriously. What's the worst that could happen?"

_Definitely no worse than being committed to the psych ward for talking to myself, I should think! _

Tetsuya closed his eyes, blocked out the irksome, Doom-And-Gloom part of his brain which was still telling him to _Stop! Now!_ and – very quickly – doodled a smiley face onto the page.

He put his pen down and opened his eyes again. With awe, he watched as the ink faded into the page as though he had just drawn the doodle in disappearing ink.

"Interesting," Tetsuya muttered.

He set his pen over the paper again. His more cautious side seemed to have given up and was sitting sulkily in a corner of his mind, arms folded, mouth stiffly pursed. Distantly, Tetsuya noted that more words had appeared on the page. It seemed that the miko and Nakago had reached land and water during his experiment.

Tetsuya would have been more glad of this, had not his mind been wholly focused on his _next_ experiment.

_Hi,_ Tetsuya wrote.

The word faded, just like the smiley face. Tetsuya waited – for a reply, for something that would suggest _something_ had happened. He even went back to the end of the story, where written words were still appearing, wondering if some kind of reply to his greeting would appear there.

No dice.

Well, really. What had he been expecting? Had he _really_ expected the book to start _talking_ to him? Maybe he'd thought it would show him memories of the past, like Tom Riddle's diary from Harry Potter.

Tetsuya sighed, fighting to quell his growing disappointment, and decided he seriously needed sleep. Perhaps he could sneak a nap at his table until Yui or Keisuke arrived.

His eyes flicked back up to the top of the page. More words had appeared since he had written his brief salutation. Quickly, Tetsuya skimmed through the most recent developments.

_The priestess of Suzaku greeted the inhabitants of the village with the standard greeting of her land, and inquired after her missing comrades, of which the people had heard no word. With regret, she and her companion, the Seiryuu seishi Nakago, went on their way, up the beach and toward the _

He was about to turn back to his research with a disappointed shrug when it hit him.

Greeted the inhabitants of the village _**with the standard greeting of her land**_…

_No way, _thought Tetsuya. _No way, no way, NO WAY –_

_Think about this logically_, he told himself. _What are the chances of Miaka saying 'Hi' to the villagers she meets? Pretty high, I guess – she __**is**__from our world, after all – but if Miaka goes around saying 'Hi' all the time and it's perfectly normal, then why did The Book explicitly write what it did – as if it was an unusual occurrence?_

_How could something like this even _be possible?_ How could __**what I write**__ impact what happens in The Book? It defies not only logic, but causality, self-determination, and Time as a fourth and unchangeable dimension (assuming what I wrote could change the past, which, granted, I haven't exactly tested yet). It defies a lot of principles of physics described by a lot of intelligent and thoughtful Nobel physics laureates – _

– _then again, I'm guessing most of them would have been a bit skeptical of magic, and chi, and gods, and worlds, so let's scrap that idea for a moment._

_Focus. Assume for the moment it's possible. Then why would someone go through the bother of making The Book act this way? Why would any reasonable person – _

Then it clicked.

_Someone wanted a way to change The Rules – someone wanted a way to make a self-modifying program – to __**change The Rules while the Universe was still running –**_

_Coincidence, _his cautious side sniffed. _You're just getting excited for nothing._

_Well then, I'll __**test**_ _it – that's what the scientific method is __**for**__, isn't it? – Testing the laws of the universe – except if the rules can change then that sort of means that the scientific method is worthless but I'll just have to cross that bridge when I get there, won't I – good thing Dad's dead, he would have had a __**cow**__ – _

_**If**__ this even works._

Tetsuya lowered his pen to paper. His right hand was shaking so badly that he almost blotted the characters.

_It was raining, _Tetsuya wrote.

He waited, heart pounding, as the ink settled into the page.

And then, words appeared above the ones Tetsuya had written, in The Book's fluid, beautiful script.

The words faded into the page like before, but even as they faded, new words appeared in the place where the story continued.

_Rain began to fall, thick and fast upon the travelers, as they started up the hills toward their other companions –_

Tetsuya gripped the tabletop, heart pounding, cheeks close to splitting open with the fierce grin that was starting across his face.

He had actually done it. He was _**controlling what happened in the world of The Book**_. With a few strokes of his pen, he was _influencing reality –_

_This is it,_ he thought, almost giddy with excitement. _You could solve everything, right now, just by writing a few sentences in the book. Bring Miaka back –_

But bringing Miaka back would still leave the other world in dire straits –

_No, _Tetsuya thought. That couldn't be the first step. The first step was, without doubt, to solve the Tenkou problem. If Tenkou was stopped, that would give them a bit of breathing room to think about what to do next, and then maybe they could come up with a solution that could benefit everyone, after a lot of careful thought and planning. But Tenkou - _he_ was the most time-sensitive part of all this. They had to stop Tenkou before any of that would be possible.

So Tetsuya began to write.

He only got as far as "Tenkou."

Because before he could get any farther, an inky word had appeared in the middle of the page, bold and black and terrifying:

_**STOP**_**, **said The Universe of the Four Gods.

Slowly, carefully, Tetsuya set his pen down in front of him.

-v-

The coastal village of Kegaura was small, unimportant, and thoroughly uninteresting. The only remarkable thing that had happened to it in the past five decades was its birth, when some wandering farmers had happened to stumble upon the spot and decided it would make a decent place to pasture their pigs.

Unfortunately, Kegaura village was also located on a fault line that extended from the Kokuzan mountains all the way to the sea.

When the earthquake was over, the village, its two dozen farmers, and its pigs were nowhere to be seen.

Which was all right, because it had been a boring little speck of land anyway.

-v-

Nuriko and Tasuki seemed capable of talking for hours, and Miaka was starting to get a headache. She felt bad for Amiboshi, who was watching the pair of them speculate about their missing comrades with a calm, quiet sort of patience – but Miaka could not rescue him because Subaru was talking to _her_, fondly reminiscing about the summoning of Byakko and her own fallen companions.

Miaka almost envied Nakago, who had retired early, claiming that her constant companionship had exhausted him. Miaka had seen the look in his eyes when he learned of Kaen's disappearance and – as was her tendency – had instantly jumped to conclusions about it. But her rapport with the golden-haired seishi of Seiryuu was on shaky ground, and Miaka still smarted from the remarks he had made to her earlier. She could not even imagine speaking to Nakago that night. _I'll wait until tomorrow, _she thought,_ and then I'll ask him about Kaen._

It wasn't until after Tasuki had had a few drinks that Miaka realized that Amiboshi was no longer among them. She felt a moment's anxiety – until she heard the telltale notes of a melody whispering in through the cracks of the door. Miaka took advantage of a momentary lull in the conversation to slip out of the room, and was soon out of doors and into the safety of the night.

The rain had finally cleared, and the night was humid, comfortably cool next to the inn's dry warmth. Miaka felt her spirits ease as she caught sight of Amiboshi's lean form against the large tree outside the inn, legs crossed, flute balanced delicately in practiced fingers.

"Hello," said Miaka.

She stared at him worriedly.

"I'm sorry about your brother," she said, a little hesitantly. "Please don't stop playing. It's beautiful."

Amiboshi stared back at her, and then raised the flute back up to his lips without speaking.

He had been so relieved to find Miaka alive that he'd barely even given a thought to Suboshi. Now, he felt a stab of guilt at the reminder.

But it was hard to think about Suboshi with Miaka beside him, distracting him. _I'll think about Suboshi in the morning, _he thought. He felt a secret guilt that he should be thinking about Miaka, when his brother could be dead or dying. _When did we become so estranged, _he wondered, _that I worry less about Suboshi than Miaka?_

Miaka, who had originally come to the tree out of worry for her friend, found herself slowly relaxing to the sound of Amiboshi's melody. From time to time, she remembered Suboshi and the real reason she had followed Amiboshi outside, and she snuck a worried glance in Amiboshi's direction. _He must feel quite terrible_, she thought, remembering how he and his brother shared a bond that was deeper than blood. _And he has to stay with us to summon the gods, so he can't go off alone to seek his brother. _And she tried to imagine having to choose between one's family and one's duty. _If I were in his place, I might run off. Seek Suboshi out myself. Or I would at least be furious with the responsibilities that were expected of me. _ But Amiboshi didn't look furious. He was taking it all so calmly. _Or he looks like he is. I wonder what he's really thinking. I wonder if he hates me secretly, for being the thing that's stopping him from finding his brother. _But she just couldn't imagine Amiboshi secretly hating anyone.

"Thank you," she said impulsively, when they arrived at a lull in the music. s

He sensed she was thanking him for more than the tune he'd just played, and he turned puzzled eyes on her. "For what?"

"For helping me to summon the gods," she said.

"Miaka." He looked almost bewildered. "You know I will always help you."

He said these last words with an earnestness that was almost impossible to overlook – and, for a moment, Miaka took the words in the way they were intended. She felt her insides clench with sudden shock. _Surely he didn't mean it __**that**__way – surely he couldn't have meant __**that**__ –_

Then she laughed, inwardly, at her own flights of fancy. She _must_ have misunderstood. Amiboshi had been a friend to her – had helped her in the Shijintenchisho when she most needed help, by the river, after she had run away from Tamahome. And he really was her seishi now; why, he might simply be referring to his bond to her as seishi, which all but required him to assist her on her quest. And if he was to have any hope of finding Suboshi, he really must help her defeat Tenkou.

And, so, with a Herculean force of willful assumption, Miaka managed to attribute the intensity of his words to Amiboshi's commitment to summoning the gods – and not to a particular fondness or affection for _her_. Perhaps she was being willfully blind; it was all very well to be told to move on by a friend, even to begin to mull it over in one's mind – and quite another to be faced with that opportunity when one was not expecting it.

"I'm sure he'll be ok," she said, impulsively, and because she wanted to reassure him.

"What?"

"Your brother. He's very strong."

Amiboshi had been on the verge of leaning forward, entranced by the picture she made, framed against the shadow of the oak tree. But at the mention of his brother's name, he drew back abruptly.

"You should sleep," he said, and Miaka, sensing that he wanted to be alone but misunderstanding the reasons for it, said, "All right," and walked back toward the inn.

Nuriko, Tasuki, and Subaru had left the table. That in itself would not have bothered her. But it was the sight of that same table's current occupant that caused Miaka to take a step backwards, almost bruising her heel on the door.

"Nakago?"

He sat, facing the doorway, blue eyes icy and cold as ever. Miaka might have thought that he was only thinking, had it not been for the mostly-depleted bottle of wine on the table on his right side.

"Is there something you _want_, miko?"

Strange how he could turn even the simplest question into something that was almost an innuendo. He enunciated each word with a precision which was impressive, given the near-empty wine bottle on the table next to him. The only outward indication that he might be drunk – apart from the visual evidence of the bottle – was the speed of his speech, which was approximately twice as slow as usual.

"I thought you'd gone to bed," she said, dismayed.

"I did go to bed. And was subsequently disturbed… by a bandit slamming doors and acting… so generally disagreeable that making myself comfortable in the main room of the tavern seemed the preferable option."

Nakago was telling the truth – though only as much of the truth as was needed to sate Miaka's curiosity. Because, long before Tasuki had barged into the room he was to share with the other members of their party, Nakago had found himself restless, much as he had been the previous night. He was not sure which troubled him more: Kaen's disappearance or Suboshi's absence or the loss of sword of Hong-Nan. He could sense none of them within the range of his powers, but he could not search as he liked, for he found that each attempt noticeably sapped his strength.

Logically, Suboshi and the sword should trouble him most, because both would be required at the summoning ceremony. But there was something odd in Kaen's disappearance too, something that Nakago – after all his years of playing the traitor himself – did not like.

These concerns played upon him long after he had retired, and his restlessness was amplified by the ache from the kudoku. Kudoku was a cruel drug, which sapped your strength even as your insides burned with it, so that as it neared your heart its agony grew greater. He had caught his face in the mirrorglass and seen that it was pale.

And then the bandit had entered the chamber – rather, he had practically thrown the door off its hinges with the force of his entry. The ability to drink sparingly did not seem to be one of Tasuki's great gifts – indeed, judging by Tasuki's loud curse as he stumbled into a wall, the bandit had imbibed rather heavily in the past few hours.

Nakago had taken Tasuki's arrival as his signal to depart. He had half a mind to request a new room from the innkeeper. But as he made to pass the other man, he had heard the words "And where d'you think yer goin', Seiryuu seishi?" and found himself grabbed roughly by the shoulder.

He had reacted instinctively, grabbing the offending arm, almost effortlessly managing to pin the bandit against the wall. "Do not touch me again," he had said coldly, giving an added squeeze for emphasis – but to his annoyance, Tasuki had simply laughed in his face.

"Do your worst. I dare ya! You don't #%ing scare me."

"Then you are more a fool than I took you for."

All the same, Nakago had released the bandit – sending him stumbling into his bed. In his current mood, he was not above inflicting injury on a drunk man who had seriously annoyed him.

"I don' get what Miaka sees in ya," Tasuki had snarled, then. "She thinks you've changed. I don't see it at all. She's worth twelve of you. Don' think I haven't noticed, the way she defends you. Ya did something ta her, tricked her, changed her somehow, or maybe it was just all th' stuff that happened, Tamahome's death an' losing the baby, all I know is, before that happened she wouldn't have given you the time of _day_. That all messed up something in her head, but she's still worth more than anything you'll ever be, even after all that, an' she deserves better than _you_."

_Tamahome's death and losing the baby._

Nakago had frozen, one hand on the doorknob. Certain of the miko's actions that had troubled him earlier were suddenly, sharply clarified. The miko's reaction to Boushin when they had first entered Eiyou. Her initial decision to go east with Tamahome to visit Mitsukake and Shouka – _of course, they would have wanted to check on the health of the child._ The sense that she had still been holding back that night in the inn, when she told him of Tamahome's death. _She was with child, and the shock of Tamahome's death caused her to miscarry._

"How far along _was_ she?" he had asked, almost casually, of the bandit still glaring at him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Nakago had left then, giving the door a hard slam behind him, briefly imagining it slamming against the bandit's face, instead of the door jamb.

Once in the main hall, Nakago had revised his former plan of getting a new room. The kudoku was making his chest ache more than ever, and there was a pounding in his temple, though that might have had more to do with new revelations than with his own body's turning against him.

Alcohol dulled the pain a little, numbing it to a level that was almost bearable. It dulled the thoughts that spiraled through his head; dulled the knowledge of the imminent death that awaited him. He had partaken of many a social drink in his lifetime – as much as was required to play politics in the Emperor's court – but he had not drunk alone in years. It was not the kind of lapse in control that he had allowed himself. But now he drank to Soi's memory, to the miko and her lost unborn child, to the fallen, to the idiot snoring upstairs and all the other fool Suzaku seishi. He drank to death of the universe, to Tenkou, to Taiitsukun and the fool gods who had let them lead lives full of shadows.

And now the miko had joined him.

Her hair still held fragments of bark from when he had pushed her against the tree earlier; they clung to her curls like roosting birds. Her cloak trailed mud across the unsanded wood floor. She did not seem to notice.

Miaka, who seemed to have escaped the frying pan only to find herself in danger of becoming a nice, charcoal roast in the fire, stood at the edge of the room as though she feared that Nakago was carrying a contagious disease. For a moment, she eyed Nakago, unspeaking; then, hesitantly, she began:

"You –"

But she broke off, uncertainty, making her mute again. Nakago, who had been in the act of refilling his glass, turned toward her, slowly and deliberately.

"Yes?"

Miaka cleared her throat. "I didn't know you drank," she finished lamely.

"There are… plenty of things you don't know… about me… Suzaku no Miko."

_He's_ really_ drunk, _Miaka thought_. _ It was taking a long time to sink in that Nakago, the paragon of iron-will, the person who had (to her mind) come to embody self-possessed, at times icy, restraint – might have actually done something that would cause him to lose control.

She studied his face in the light of the candle. His face looked very pale to her, and his forehead bore a light sheen of perspiration – whether from the drink or from some other cause, she was not certain.

He really was –

He was _actually_ –

He really _was –_

… human.

In her mind, she replayed the words he had just spoken. _There are plenty of things you don't know about me, Suzaku no Miko. _

"Like what?" she said quietly.

He did not reply. A part of her – a large part – was telling her that she had no right to be here at well. That she ought to go to bed and leave well enough alone. Nakago was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself (although this was debatable).

On the other hand, Miaka had never seen Nakago lose control before, and she might never be in a position to see him lose control again. Miaka was not consciously aware that her decision to stay was mediated by anything other than curiosity; certainly, she was not actively scheming to manipulate information out of Nakago, and a part of her really _was_ concerned for him. But she felt a sense of pressing opportunity, mixed with a faint sense of guilt.

"I think I need some of that," she said, and without asking, she helped herself to a small tumbler of wine and took a gulp. She almost spat it back out straightaway; it was much stronger than the sake she had gotten drunk off of at the inn back in Eiyou.

He had not even tried to stop her from taking the wine, but he moved the bottle away when she was done pouring – whether to keep it for himself or to protect her from overdrinking was anyone's guess. She studied his hands on the bottle because it seemed safer than meeting his eyes,

"Is this about Kaen?" she asked abruptly, because she had seen the disturbed look in his eyes after learning of the two missing members of their party, and that was the only thing that seemed plausible. "Can you sense if she's still alive?" _Oh gods,_ she thought, with some consternation, _what if he decides to go after her?_

She felt an emotion fill her, realized she was actually profoundly upset by this concept. Not that she was _jealous_ – she quickly and adamantly convinced herself that she was _not_ jealous – the prospect of a drunk Nakago heading into the woods at night to seek out a woman who might or might not be dead was simply disquieting to her. Not that she was overly concerned with his safety, either.

So it was with some relief that she heard him say:

"I cannot… sense either of them."

She felt instantly guilty at her wave of relief. _Amiboshi won't like to hear that,_ she thought. _And I shouldn't be relieved about two of our party being possibly dead._

"Nakago," she said, reaching across the table impulsively, almost as she had done with Amiboshi earlier. "About Kaen – I'm – I'm sorry –"

"Kaen."

He had been thinking of Kaen, but only peripherally, in the sense that she was a reminder of his failure to keep Soi from harm – and this had led him to a chain of thoughts and unpleasant connections. Soi, Taria, Matuta – and now here was the miko, another of those rare few whose lives and outcomes actually mattered to him, likely to meet the same fate as the first three, doomed to die young. Because even if Tenkou did not destroy her, the summoning ceremony probably would.

"Do you ever wonder," he mused, "why some, who are only at the start of life, have it snatched away from them, while others, who are spoiled, cruel, and ignorant, live their whole lives without suffering?"

"I don't know," she said sadly.

"Because, miko, the gods… have a cruel sense of humor."

Miaka frowned. "The gods don't control us."

"Would we both be here, if not for the gods?"

He stared silently into his glass.

"Taria discovered she was with child… and she took her own life," he said. "She killed herself."

For a moment, Miaka was not sure she had heard the words properly. They seemed to come at her from a great distance, and she had to replay them several times in her mind to make sense of them. Even when she did, she could not help but stare at him with mild bewilderment and horror, until he said, almost impatiently:

"You wanted to know how she died in this world."

She had wanted to know – back on the ship. Miaka covered her mouth with her hand, unable to stop herself. She felt tears start to her eyes.

"She was one day away from being rescued."

He paused and stared at her.

"You have… her eyes."

He stared at her with a direct, unblinking, focused stare at which he was an expert. She stared back, licking dry lips, her uncertainty building. The words _But Taria had blue eyes_ died in her throat. She lowered her gaze to the pocked table surface and took another gulp of wine, feeling disquieted. The fact that she might remind him of Taria _was_ unnerving – flattering, perhaps, but in a way that she would rather not think about. She knew he would never have spoken the words had he not already drunk eight glasses of wine. Did he even mean them? Or was she worrying over nothing – was this simply the alcohol's influence, causing Nakago to make empty utterances without consequence? It would not be the first odd thing that had happened today. In fact, so many impossible and absurd things had already happened in the space of a scant twenty-four hours that, if an asteroid had spontaneously chosen to obliterate Earth at that moment, it would not have surprised her.

"I – I think you've had enough wine," she said shakily, pulling the wine bottle toward her again. Her cheeks were warm, which might have been partly the effect of the wine. She stood up and moved around the table. "Come on, Nakago – you need to rest. I've never seen you look so tired – _**ah!**_"

She didn't know if he pulled her toward him or if he stood up himself – all she knew was that, for the second time that day, she felt herself clasped in an embrace that was almost gentle, found her lips pressed up against Nakago's. sAs abruptly as the kiss had started, he released her and turned away, striding back toward the staircase. Miaka was left, staring numbly at the blank space that Nakago had just vacated, hands reaching up tremblingly to touch her lips, which were still stinging.

_What on __**earth**__ just happened…? _

-v-

**Author's note: ** Yes, yes, I'm still alive. Please don't throw tomatoes at me.

I do love drunk people. They are so fun to play with. -cackles evilly- So finally an instance of Nakago losing control – in a manner of speaking. Perhaps an excusable offense, seeing as how he only has one more day to live…?

I'm starting to think that I should have split this story into 2 sections and had Part I encompass Parts 1, 2, and 3 and Part II encompass Part IV. Because it occurs to me that Part IV is going to be ABSURDLY long relative to the other parts. Except my chapters also seem to be getting longer, so chapter-wise, there will probably not be much difference between them. I still need to actually work on the ending -guiltyface- except I'm clipping along so well here that I'd like to keep up my posting streak. Hopefully this means I'm not neglecting anything important as I write * twiddles thumbs *

Enough idle musing! Thanks so much to all my dear reviewers! I love concrit, so do please drop me a line, even if it's just "When did Nakago turn into Sudden Angry Kissing Attacks Man?" or "You're just guessing at dollar-Yen conversions, aren't you?"

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Are Kaen and Suboshi currently together? (Locationally, not romantically). **

Nope. They are in totally different places. (Which is one of the reasons Part IV is so long… -sigh-)

**2. Where are they?**

In different places, both in Kutou.

**3. Did Tetsuya make that lightning when he was trying to find a pen?**

NICE CATCH! Yes!

**4. Nakago's bastard actions were harsh, but Miaka obviously saw right through it. How long before she realizes what Nakago's been hiding?**

Not too long now.

**5. Were Nakago, Nuriko, and Amiboshi talking about Kaen and Suboshi's location?**

Good guess, but no.

**6. What will happen when they figure out that they have the wrong sword? Will Suboshi be apologetic? **

That will be dealt with, I swear… soon.

**7. One thing I really like about your writing is that you're never afraid of like..being very blatant in places were other people would have chosen euphemism.**

Uh… hehhhhhh… thanks? I'm not sure this is entiiirely true... Gross stuff is fine (I think working in lab desensitized me) but I definitely still have some trouble writing things that are sexual in nature, particularly from a male point of view. (I guess this makes sense since I am not a guy…) As a matter of fact, one of my goals in writing this fanfic was to improve my ability to write from multiple perspectives and to tackle slightly maturer topics. It's gotten easier, though I still think I'd die if certain parts of my writing got into the hands of certain friends or family members…

**8. In Chapter 47, why is Miaka so bothered that no one else seems to mind that Nakago is the appointed leader?**

What's really bothering Miaka is that Amiboshi – who barely knows anything about the plan or about Nakago's motives – isn't questioning it at all. He's just blindly accepting that things are okay and putting his trust in everyone around him, going with the crowd. Miaka – who has been through a lot and picked up a bit traveling with Nakago for the past month – is learning that sometimes you _do _have to be careful about who you trust. So in Miaka's mind, Amiboshi's not being very cautious and this worries her. The ironic thing is that at one time, Miaka would have done exactly the same thing as Amiboshi. Basically, I think she sees a bit of herself (or her old self) in Amiboshi and it unsettles her.

**9. In Chapter 47, why did Nakago kill the rat?**

He was trying to test whether using his powers caused the kudoku to spread faster/brought on magical exhaustion. The rat just happened to be a convenient target. I do feel sorry for it. I like rats, in general.

**10. Did you draw the display image for Protected?**

Yes, I did. Testing out my Inkscape skills (which are still, unfortunately, not very good). I wish the image were bigger. Then you might actually be able to see the kissing couple silhouetted inside Nakago's eye :-P (Side note: if you want to try out vector design, I would definitely recommend Inkscape. Totally free, and it can do pretty much all the stuff Illustrator can…)

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

1. Tetsuya's realization. Awesome? Weird? Is Tetsuya too much of a geek these days?

2. Revelation that Miaka was pregnant when Tamahome died. Believable? Random? Not enough hints earlier on in the story? General thoughts?

-v-

**Disclaimer:** None of the things you recognize in this story are mine. They are the property of Yuu Watase.


	51. Attitude problems

...

**LI**

**Attitude problems**

...

Tetsuya continued to stare at the word in the middle of the page. The letters were big and black and bold, as though the owner had been in such a hurry he had not even bothered to script them. If they had been typed by a computer, the font face would have been seventy-two point all caps bold-italicized Verdana.

_**STOP.**_

Tetsuya's hands on the desk were white. Shaking, even. This was possibly the scariest thing that had ever happened to him, apart from the fiasco where Nakago had actually _come out of _The Book and started ripping up Tokyo. But Nakago had never personally targeted Tetsuya.

"Um," said Tetsuya.

New words were appearing beneath the blocky, bolded _**STOP**_, _numerous_ new words that seem inclined to take up a significant portion of the page:

BEFORE YOUR MEDDLING DOES SOMETHING REALLY HORRIBLE TO MY UNIVERSE, I WOULD ADVISE YOU TO STAND UP AND STEP AWAY FROM THE TABLE.

Beneath this sage advice, another line appeared, slightly smaller:

YOU HAVE **NO IDEA** WHAT YOU'RE MEDDLING WITH.

"Wh- who are you?" Tetsuya asked.

I AM THE UNIVERSE OF THE FOUR GODS. IT'S ON THE COVER, MORON.

"You're…" Tetsuya was slowly recovering his ability to think, now that it seemed that The Book was not inclined to hurt him. "Hang on, you're _sentient_?"

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING. I DON'T TALK TO MORTALS OFTEN. IT TAKES A LOT OUT OF ME.

"You don't talk to mortals – does that mean you're immortal? I mean –" Tetsuya suddenly found that he had dozens of questions, all tumbling one on top of the other. They came out of his mouth in a jumble. "Are you in charge of translating the events of Miaka's life into the words that appear on the page? I've always wondered how that works. And just now, I was able to influence events _in _the book just by writing on you – hang on, _are_ you the world of the four gods itself? Am I talking to some kind of metaphysical representation of reality? _What are you, exactly?_"

The Book took a long time responding. Tetsuya, who had at this point decided that he desperately needed some chocolate, used the lag time to locate the biggest un-squished bar he could find in his backpack.

I SUPPOSE, The Book said finally, YOU COULD CALL ME AN INTERFACE BETWEEN YOUR WORLD AND THE UNIVERSE OF THE FOUR GODS. I REPORT ON WHAT HAPPENS IN THAT UNIVERSE, AND I LET PEOPLE IN OR OUT. AND, it added grimly, I MAINTAIN THE RULES FOR THAT UNIVERSE – WHICH HAS NOW, THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN, BEEN MERGED WITH A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE, CREATING **ALL** **SORTS** OF INTERESTING COMPLICATIONS.

"I can imagine," Tetsuya said faintly.

NO, I DOUBT YOU CAN TRULY GRASP THE EXTENT TO WHICH THE SUZAKU NO MIKO'S LAST WISH MUCKED UP THE UNIVERSE, NOT TO MENTION MY LIFE. BUT THANKS ANYWAY.

Tetsuya took a bite of chocolate. Privately, he couldn't help feeling that it wasn't his fault that The Book seemed to have an attitude problem, not to mention an ego the size of China. But Tetsuya still needed answers, and he suddenly realized that he could save Yui another day's worth of snooping through newspaper articles if he just asked a few things, very quickly, right now.

It was this thought that led him to put down the chocolate bar and lean forward. "Tenkou," he said. "He's from our world, isn't he? And he designed you to control the Universe of the Four Gods –" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Wait a second. You're not _working_ for Tenkou, are you?"

IF I WAS WORKING FOR TENKOU, DO YOU THINK HE WOULD STILL BE TRAPPED IN HELL? I WORK FOR WHOEVER WRITES IN ME.

"I see," said Tetsuya.

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW HARD IT IS SOMETIMES. IDIOTS WHO DON'T _THINK_ BEFORE THEY WRITE. RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS ON MY PAGES. I HAVE TO INTERPRET THOSE SOMEHOW, IT'S HOW I WAS MADE. PEOPLE REALLY OUGHT TO BE _CAREFUL_ ABOUT WHAT THEY WRITE IN ME. THE POWER TO CHANGE THE RULES HAS TO COME FROM _SOMEWHERE_, YOU KNOW.

I DO MISS TENKOU SOMETIMES. ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE OF MORALS, BUT THE MAN KNEW WHAT HE WAS ABOUT. A COUPLE OF RULE CHANGES – BIG, BUT ELEGANT – AND THAT WAS IT. WE HAD SOME GREAT CONVERSATIONS. AND HIS SWEET LITTLE WIFE WAS ALWAYS VERY NICE TO ME. OF COURSE NOW SHE'S OLDER. IMPATIENT. SNAPPY. HIDEOUSLY UGLY, TOO. FACE LIKE A FROG'S.

"But who _was_ Tenkou in our world?"

SCIENTIST, LATE NINETEENTH CENTURY. BRILLIANT MAN. FOUND A WAY TO TRAVEL BETWEEN WORLDS. THEN FIGURED OUT HOW TO MANIPULATE THE RULES OF A WORLD THAT ALREADY EXISTED. HE AND HIS WIFE FOUND THE SHIJINTENCHISHO IN THEIR TRAVELS, DECIDED IT WOULD BE A GOOD WORLD TO TINKER WITH. THAT'S WHEN THEY DESIGNED ME. GRANTED, TENKOU DID MOST OF THE WORK – HIS WIFE WAS MORE INTO ANTHROPOLOGY AND HISTORY AND THAT SORT OF THING. SHE LIKED TO STUDY WHAT WAS INSIDE THE WORLDS. THEY INTERESTED HER.

"His wife." Tetsuya blinked. He felt as though he was missing something very obvious. "Was she also trapped in Hell with Tenkou?"

DON'T BE RIDICULOUS. SHE'S NOT TRAPPED. IN FACT, SHE'S THE ONE WHO SAW _**HIM**_LOCKED AWAY_,_ WHEN SHE FINALLY REALIZED WHAT A LOSER HE WAS.

Tetsuya's throat was growing dry. "You don't mean –"

_He __**couldn't possibly**__mean –_

His phone was ringing.

"Sorry, I have to get this," said Tetsuya, feeling a little ridiculous, and he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Oh, good, you're _there. _ I can't come back to the library – my parents were really upset when they found Keisuke at my house and now I'm kind of grounded –"

"That's nice," said Tetsuya distractedly. "Listen, can we talk later? There's been a kind of… incident – no, no one's died, at least I don't think so – but um… no, every thing's fine – I'll explain it all in detail – can I call you back?"

He hung up.

"Sorry," he said, turning back to the Book. "That was Yui – she's been reading you too. What was it you were saying, about Tenkou's wife?"

Nothing. Tetsuya stepped closer. "Book?" he said.

The page he had been speaking to was now completely blank. Apart from the indentations from Tetsuya's pen, there was no record that their conversation had ever taken place.

-v-

They left the inn at dawn, with horses they had purchased in the small town they had just left. The road was only wide enough for one mount, so they rode in a line, with Nakago leading. He was followed by Nuriko, Subaru, Tasuki, Miaka, and finally Amiboshi, who brought up the rear.

Miaka could not help shooting surreptitious glances toward Nakago as they rode. If he noticed her silent observation, he made no comment, and for this she was grateful. She was glad of the distance that separated them. Their discourse the previous day had made even the thought of any sort of interaction unbearably awkward. She sensed something was wrong, but she still did not know how far the kudoku had progressed – nor did she know that today was the last day in Nakago's revised estimate of his life. Had she known, she might have been more inclined to tolerate uncomfortable conversations. As it was, his appearance at breakfast had made her uneasy – he looked ill, as though he had not slept. She hoped his appearance was due to the aftereffects of indulging in alcohol, as opposed to the kudoku.

If only they could ride faster! Miaka had never quite appreciated how _swiftly_ they traveled when it was just her and Nakago. Perhaps the pace he set was a bit grueling for ordinary mortals, but at least when the two of them traveled alone, she always felt like they got somewhere quickly. Now they were in a group of six, and Miaka wanted to scream with impatience. Subaru was old and could not travel fast and she was obviously conserving her strength – Miaka understood this and sympathized with it. But she could not help but clench her teeth as they made their second stop for the morning. Nakago had only days to live!

Even more exasperatingly, Tasuki seemed to be taking Nakago's continued presence in their group as a personal insult. He was no longer too sick to complain about his enforced proximity to Nakago, as he had been on the boat. Riding directly behind him, Miaka caught the hateful looks he periodically sent the blond seishi at the front of their train. And the waves of ardent dislike he exuded were enough to make Miaka uneasy. She didn't think Tasuki would go so far as to attack Nakago. On the other hand, the negativity of his emotions worried her. It made Tasuki so vulnerable! Didn't Tenkou's demons prey on jealousy and hatred?

It was this line of thought which prompted her to say, rather worriedly, when they next stopped to take one of their all-too-frequent rest breaks:

"You guys – if any of you are approached by someone asking you to give him your soul in exchange for your seishi powers, say no, all right?"

Nuriko shot her a friendly but exasperated look and didn't say anything; Amiboshi looked mildly amused; and Tasuki rolled his eyes. "_Duh_," he said. "Miaka, are ya sure blondie didn't accidentally hit you over the head while he was savin' ya from the sharks?"

Miaka kept quiet after that. But she spent the rest of the morning expecting something horrible to happen.

Which was why Miaka was probably the most prepared of any of them when the fragile peace shattered near lunch time. At the sound of the crash of metal in the next clearing over, Miaka was on her feet before Nuriko or Subaru had even registered the noise.

Amiboshi, Nakago, and Tasuki had left ten minutes earlier with the intention of scouting the area. At first, Miaka – hearing the cacophony of noise – thought that one of them had encountered a party of demons sent by Tenkou. Apparently Nuriko had similar thoughts, for she yelled at Miaka to take cover while the others dealt with the problem. Miaka, who had other thoughts, shrugged off Nuriko's restraining arm and instead sprinted toward the source of the noise.

They were not under attack. Or rather – Miaka blinked a few times to make sure what she was seeing was not a bad dream – they were only under attack insofar as Tasuki was throwing knives at Nakago and Nakago was meeting each blade with a burst of blue chi that turned the knives to vapor. Nakago – Miaka noticed, with an unsettled lurch of her stomach – was also advancing on Tasuki and _smiling_, a thoroughly evil, intent smile that brought a chill to Miaka's blood.

Miaka's hands tensed as she took in Nakago's expression. It was a mark of how different he was in this world that she had grown unaccustomed to thinking of Nakago in this capacity – as _evil, dangerous _– that his current visage should shock her so much now – And Miaka was even more unnerved to realize that she had seen an expression remarkably like the one Nakago was wearing once before, on a different face, long ago in the Shijintenchisho.

It could only mean one thing. The kudoku was taking over.

Was it already too late?

Nakago glanced toward her, and she took a step backward at the blank, malevolent look in his eyes. Her heart leapt in her throat. If he was lost already –

But he couldn't be already lost! She had promised Soi she would protect Nakago, and she would be a poor protector if she gave up on him so soon. She had already failed in saving Tamahome, and the thought of losing Nakago sent a peculiar wrenching sensation to her gut. And Tasuki – she couldn't let Nakago kill Tasuki, which was surely what would happen if Tasuki kept on launching weapons at Nakago –

"Stop!" Miaka cried, and – more for emphasis than anything practical – she drew the sword at her belt. "_Stop it, _both of you! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Again, Nakago's eyes snapped toward Miaka, and Miaka fought to repress a shudder. It was a horrible black blankness that stared at her, a shadowy emptiness flavored with a hint of malice. Staring into Nakago's eyes was like staring into an empty chasm, a pitiless void of outer space: uncaring, and deadly, they yawned to swallow her.

Tasuki was yelling at her, telling her to get away, to stand back and let him handle this. Miaka ignored him completely. _Sweet Suzaku,_ she thought, and her heart raced in her chest again. Her fingers on the sword were white. The kudoku really _was_ taking over.

He stepped toward her and she flinched, but she couldn't back down – not now – and her hand clenched tighter around the sword that she didn't even know how to use. "Nakago," she said, trying to keep her voice steady – but her words sounded desperate to her own ears – her voice lurched and dipped. "Please, Nakago, _stop. _You – you have to _fight _it!"

She caught his eye and _glared_ at him.

Something dark behind Nakago's shadowed gaze seemed to shift. His eyes seemed to widen a fraction. Miaka's mouth opened, a joyful cry rising to her lips –

A second later, her shout of joy turned to a shriek of horror. In Nakago's moment of inattention, Tasuki darted forward, eyes intent, hair like wildfire. Miaka saw a glint of metal in his hand, saw his arm lunge in one swift, precise slice. Nakago moved, but he was distracted, and this once, he did not quite move in time – the sword caught him across his arm, and there was blood –

Tasuki stumbled back, looking almost as shocked as Miaka felt, but before he could get very far, Miaka, heart still pounding, brought her arm forward. A red wall blossomed between Nakago and Tasuki. It expanded outward, catching the pair of them – flinging them away from each other –

She hadn't known she could do that.

Nuriko and Subaru were behind her, and she could hear the footsteps of someone else – Amiboshi probably – on the rocks. As Miaka, – whose heart was still doing what felt like jumping jacks inside her chest – began to slowly make her way toward Nakago, Nuriko put a hand on her arm.

"Be careful, Miaka –"

Miaka stopped, momentarily accosted by the memory of the blankness in Nakago's eyes. But he _looked_ safe enough now, lying against the rocks where she had thrown him. His eyes were closed, and there was no trace of kudoku on his face now. The wound on his arm bled sluggishly – it would probably require stitches.

"Miaka." Tasuki's voice was rough. "Stay back –"

"What happened here?" she asked.

"He attacked me," Tasuki wheezed. Miaka noticed that she had thrown him into a wisteria bush. "I was defending myself – That #&$% bastard _attacked_ –"

"Unprovoked?"

"Er –"

Miaka's eyes hardened, even as she continued to stare at Nakago. Although she spoke softly, her fingers tightened around the sword in her hand. "You didn't say anything that might have _caused_ him to attack you, did you, Tasuki?"

"I might've – uh – said some things..."

Tasuki's voice trailed off.

_About Soi? About Nakago being a child-raping bastard, like you did in Souen? _Miaka suddenly felt rather sick. She did not want to look at Tasuki so instead she looked at Nakago. _Could Tasuki unknowingly have set off the kudoku?_

She took a step closer to Nakago. But even as she approached him, his eyes finally opened, and he met her gaze unblinkingly.

"I would not advise you to approach me at this time, Suzaku no miko."

Miaka stopped as she realized that he was perfectly serious.

Nakago cast the wound on his arm a blank glance. Though it was bleeding quite freely, he did not seem overly concerned about the wound. Perhaps he was in shock, although Miaka doubted this was the reason; even having a sword run through his midriff hadn't perturbed Nakago. Still, Miaka realized guiltily, being thrown into a cliff probably hadn't helped his situation much. She opened her mouth to ask how she was going to treat the wound if she couldn't get near him, but before she could, he said:

"Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"That sword you carry."

Nakago's head still rested against the rock. Although he looked perfectly comfortable, Miaka suspected a good deal of his strength was being put toward disguising the fact that he was currently too weak to move. And yet his voice belied no indication of weakness. He spoke as though he were making idle conversation at a social function. Miaka glanced toward Nuriko, and was glad to see that she was not the only one who was unnerved by Nakago's utter calm.

"What about it?" Miaka asked nervously. "It's Hotohori's sword, the one he gave me, the one that we need to rouse Suzaku. It's gold and has pretty gems on it, and your arm is _bleeding_ –"

"The Emperor's sword," Nakago repeated. "Are you certain?"

"Of course I'm sure," Miaka said, glancing at it very briefly. "I brought it with me when our ship – when it cap…sized…"

She looked at the sword again.

Miaka rubbed her eyes very hard. She hoped she was mistaken. Perhaps she was in some kind of bizarre dream, resulting from the aftermath of her hypothermia a day ago. She opened and closed her eyes a few times, and when that didn't work, blinked as hard as she could.

It didn't help. It was still bad news.

"What," said Tasuki tersely.

Miaka swallowed. "This isn't the sword of Suzaku."

-v-

**Author's Note: **Yay! Another update! A short one this time, but more to come soon. (Hopefully very soon if I am to finish this story by August!)

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was really happy to get such an awesome response. Hopefully I answered all your questions below!

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Was it the UotFG that wrote back to Tetsuya, or was it Tenkou?**

The Book (although I think this chapter pretty much answers that question).

**2. Do you feel that being an aspiring scientist affects how you work out a story? Do you use more logic or a creative approach to the story process?**

At first I usually use more of a creative approach – I don't really try to be too logical when I'm brainstorming scenes and events. But when I actually go to write the story in detail, I usually try to outline at least 20 chapters in advance, and make sure that the events that occur make sense and there are clues in the right places and there aren't gaping plot holes. For one of my current stories (which has a rather complex timeline and lots of nobility with complicated inter-marriages) I ended up building timelines and a ginormous family tree, and sketched out a bunch of world maps and so on. (Fun times). But I'd say I used a mixture of logic and creativity. It's hard to write a story with just one or the other ;)

**3. When Nakago anticipated what Miaka was thinking while they were on the life raft at sea, was he reading her mind? **

No, that was just the author being silly.

**4. Did Nakago get drunk because hearing about Miaka's loss of child remind him of Taria?**

Yes. And because of the kudoku.

**5. What's up with that Kageura place? That was so random, it took me a moment to realize that even though I was still reading the story, I wasn't taking in the words.**

Hahaha. No, that scene was not a mistake. I'll give you a hint: it's a side effect of messing with The Rules.

**6. Does Nakago remember last night's events? **

If so, he ain't sayin.

**7. A little guess on the question Nakago had asked Tasuki, considering there was no baby objects mentioned when Miaka had visited her house: I am assuming the pregnancy was early as someone further into a pregnancy would have had baby things in their home and possibly a name picked out(she hasn't recalled one so assuming there wasn't). Am I right?**

Yes, you are!

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

I'm too tired to think of questions right now. Do you have questions for me?

-v-

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize is the property of the amazing Yuu Watase.


	52. Sacrifice

...

**LII**

**Sacrifice**

...

Miaka stared at the sword that Definitely Was Not the Konan Emperor's Most Treasured Item. She felt very cheated.

Worse, everyone else had arrived in time to hear Nakago's remark. Now the others were offering their own commentary on the situation. Miaka found the majority of this commentary decidedly unwelcome. She was sure there was a simple solution to this mess, one that did not involve the treasured sword of Konan being on the bottom of the ocean with a capsized ship.

For she was sure that the _real_ sword had been stolen when they were still on board. That was the only time Miaka could remember letting the blade out of her sight. She had had the sword close to her ever since they had capsized.

She ran this thought by the others and promptly wished she hadn't. If anything, her remark _increased_ the volume of shouting currently in effect in the small clearing. Nuriko began bawling things in her ear like, "You only just realized the swords were switched NOW?" and "Are you telling me that this is the first time you checked on the holy items since you capsized?"

"It was dark the last time I checked on them!" Miaka said. "You try checking on things when you can't actually see them! It was the right shape, okay?"

"The scabbard you are holding is the one that originally housed Lord Saheiti's sword," said Nakago. He was one of the few people who was _not_ shouting. His calmness unnerved Miaka too.

"Oh, great," Tasuki muttered, having finally managed to fight his way free of the tangled wisteria plant. "So we can present the _scabbard_ up as an offering to the gods. That's a bloody _fantastic_ plan. Maybe they won't notice. Do ya think the gods will look closely?"

"They _are_ gods," Subaru said dryly. "So yes. They will."

"Maybe a diversion. Yeh know, if blondie here starts doing acrobatics –"

Nakago shot Tasuki a look that said the day he did acrobatics for the gods would be the same day Tasuki purchased a war galleon and permanently took to the seas as a pirate. It was an impressive look, although it probably would have looked more impressive had he not still been relying on support from a rock to keep standing.

"I never took the sword out of its scabbard, so that means someone else must have switched them," Miaka said firmly, ignoring Tasuki.

Amiboshi, hitherto silent, reached forward and plucked the sword from her grasp. He held it in his hands, and for a moment, a very far-off look swept through his eyes.

"I think," he said slowly, "I might know who that person was."

-v-

They stopped to rest briefly, towards the middle of the afternoon, in the shadow of an abandoned stone tower by the bank of the river. Miaka was glad of the rest. She was exhausted, and thirsty, and starving, and when the canteen was passed to her, she gulped water with all the grace of a dying fish.

Thirst sated, Miaka stared at the crumbling tower that overlooked their camp and chewed on a tendril of hair. This place was wholly unfamiliar to her, but apparently it had meant something to Nakago, who'd said – upon seeing it – that they needed to go up the river and cut north, and they would be at the lake. It was another day's ride at most.

_I hope Nakago can last another day. _Nakago's pallor concerned her. He had bandaged his wound on his own, refusing all help, but blood was already leaking through the bandage. And, as the day wore on, Miaka had noticed him keeping a careful distance from everyone else in the camp. Tasuki continued to watch the blond seishi mistrustfully, as though waiting for Nakago to transform again, but Miaka was more troubled than afraid. _He thinks the kudoku might overwhelm him again._ The thought depressed her.

Nakago had said that they did not have time to search for Suboshi. They would just have to hope that Suboshi would find them. Privately, Miaka agreed, though it was maddening that they didn't even know if the boy was alive.

Amiboshi was quiet. The realization that his brother had taken the Suzaku sword seemed to be weighing heavily on his mind. At first, Miaka had thought Amiboshi might be able to locate his brother. But that notion was squashed as soon as she raised it. _We lost the ability to locate each other when I was in Hokkan, _he'd told her sadly. _After Suboshi saved my life, before he erased my memories, he closed himself off from me. It was the only way he could erase my memories so unexpectedly, without me guessing what he was up to and stopping him. And now, a year and a half later, he's still closed off. I don't even think he knows he's doing it. _

Miaka had asked if this meant that Suboshi wouldn't be able to find them, either. Amiboshi had told her calmly that he had no idea. _But he found me a few weeks ago, just by chance, or so he said. So perhaps we'll be lucky again. _

Miaka had almost wanted to shake him then, just to see the look of serenity vanish from his face. _How can he be so calm, _she wondered, _when we have no idea where Suboshi is, and when all our lives depend on summoning the gods with the sword that Suboshi ran off with? _But Amiboshi seemed strangely certain that things would work out.

Miaka shared none of his certainty. Over the course of the afternoon, they had come across two abandoned villages and another village in the process of being ransacked. They had hurried out of that village as fast as was possible, lying low so that the demons did not see them, but it was a sharp reminder that they were traveling in dangerous territory. That, coupled with and Nakago's episode earlier, and the loss of the sword of Suzaku, had brought Miaka almost to breaking point, and when Nuriko told her they were running low on food supplies, Miaka almost cried.

_I have to get away,_ she thought. She bit her lip and set her teeth and stared up at the wild tower above them, half-swallowed by the forest.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced.

"Where are you –"

"I'll only be a few minutes."

She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to get away from it all, _just for a little while_. The nearby stone tower seemed to beckon her forward, a safe resting place, sheltered from the outside world. Miaka stepped forward, hardly thinking about where she was going.

She glided beneath the ivy that was trying to reclaim the stone walls. It was peaceful here; the demons had not reached this place yet. Miaka found a hidden staircase that rose up from behind a wall of ivy and followed it blindly, toward the ruins of the main tower that overlooked the river.

Trees and bushes had half-reclaimed it, and the roof had caved in in a number of places, but the parts of the floor nearest the walls were walkable. Miaka stepped around the heaps of crumbling stone, trying not to make a sound. She made her way up another staircase, dripping with grapes and clinging vines and found herself in a small room.

There had been occasional bird song before, when their party was walking through the forest, but she heard no sounds now. A hush seemed to pervade the space, and her footsteps and the distance hum of the river were the only sounds that she heard. Light shone in through the crumbling stone walls, creating soft sunbeams thick with dust. It felt almost like she had entered a temple of sorts, even though Miaka knew that such things should not exist in _this _version of the world. Light shone through half of the wall of the room.

"Suzaku," Miaka called hopefully. "Are you there, Suzaku? Taiitsukun? _Anybody?_"

But all she could hear was the wind in the trees.

She knew she should go. They hadn't meant to rest long, and her walk had already taken up valuable time, time they couldn't afford to waste. The others were probably already getting ready to leave; they must be wondering at her absence. She had to return, before Tasuki picked a fight with Nakago again, or before they discovered that something _else _was missing_ – _

She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and suddenly she _was_ crying. It suddenly all seemed so much. Nakago was losing control and he was injured and _nobody _in their group could get along and it was wet and she was cold and she still had to summon the gods and they didn't have the sword and the gods were still sealed and _could_ things be going more wrong right now?

She sank to the ground, feeling very old, and tried to dry her eyes – it had suddenly become very important that the others not see her like this, not upset and crying – because she _needed_ to be strong –

Her fall had disturbed some of the dust on the ground, revealing the subtle lines of a carving. As Miaka's sobs slowly quieted, she placed her hands on the stone and dead leaves and gently brushed the dust aside. When she had finished, Miaka sat back, staring at the mural in front of her.

A bird, a tortoise, a tiger, and a dragon, intertwined in an interlocking circle. Some ancient chisel had carved the four beast gods into the stone floor of this building, long, long ago.

Miaka shivered. What she was seeing was It was utterly impossible. There were no temples to the four gods in this universe. The people of this world didn't _believe _in the four gods. And yet – here she was. And here _they_ were, Suzaku and Seiryuu and Byakko and Genbu, chiseled into the rock.

She knew she had to leave, and yet she folded her legs and clasped her hands out in front of her and swallowed. "I'm sorry, Suzaku," she said, more quietly than before. "Sealing you was the stupidest thing I ever did. I wish I could tell you that. If I could break you free right now just by wishing it, I would do that – but I suppose I have to wish correctly, at the proper place and time.

"I'm so worried," she whispered. "Nakago is strong, but I don't know if he can withstand the effects of the kudoku much longer, and we have to reach the lake before it overtakes him. We've just got to. And Eiyou is in terrible trouble, Hotohori and Chiriko and Chichiri and Tokaki and Lord Kazuhiko and poor Boushin. And Suboshi has the sword of Konan, and we've no idea where _he _is." She stared toward the ceiling, awash with ivy, and clasped her hands. "I just don't know how we can win this fight without help," she said.

"Please?"

-v-

Although living in the rough had prepared Suboshi for most eventualities, being separated from his brother in a shipwreck and then tossed up on an unknown shore was a new experience for him. As was the case with most new experiences, Suboshi did not approve.

More accurately, he was terrified.

Suboshi had never dealt well with terror. Terror infuriated him. He didn't want to be a weak and sniveling thing. He had always pushed fear to the back of his mind, until it erupted in surges of fury.

Amiboshi was good at soothing his brother. But Amiboshi couldn't help him now – because Amiboshi was the source of Suboshi's terror, right here, at this moment. Suboshi had no idea whether or not his brother was alive.

"AMIBOSHI?" he yelled. "AMIBOSHI!"

_Echo echo echo._

Suboshi stumbled along the beach, the sword of Konan banging against his leg. He had been walking ever since he woke up that morning, after a miserable night huddled on shore. So far, he had turned up no signs of his brother, and none of the wreckage either. All that lay before him was sandy beach and the occasional piece of driftwood.

Suboshi kicked his feet into the sand. The sword at his belt seemed to hum slightly. It had been doing that on and off throughout the day, and the soft whine it made was only worsening his tenuous grip on his sanity. Suboshi's feet hurt. He had been scratched and cut when the ship capsized, and these wounds stung in the ocean spray.

"AMIBOSHI!" he shouted again.

Nothing.

Suboshi snarled and threw himself on his knees into the sand, digging his fists into it. _Pathetic, _he though. Amiboshi was probably dead already. _Amiboshi is dead and I'll spend the rest of my days looking for him, until I'm driven mad by this infernal –_

"STOP HUMMING!" he yelled at the sword.

The sword gave a last annoyed buzz then trailed off.

Suboshi lay on his side and thought.

He had officially crossed the threshold to insanity.

He was talking to a sword.

Swords weren't supposed to hum. His own sword had never hummed before.

But then again, the sword at his belt was not actually his sword. It was Lord Saheiti's blade, and also a holy item that was needed to summon the gods.

It was probably a very powerful magical object.

And it probably didn't like being shipwrecked and yelled at and tossed in the sand.

Suboshi sat up again. Then he very carefully detached the sword from his belt and held it in front of him. It lay inert, like an ordinary sword. Suboshi felt exceedingly foolish.

"You can hum again," he said, "if you tell me where Amiboshi is."

The sword lay inert as ever, though Suboshi got the distinct sense that it was _irritated_ with him. Irritation was an emotion of which he had often been on the receiving end – from Nakago, from Soi, from Tomo, from his brother… but never before from a sword. Suboshi glared at it.

The sword continued to sit in his lap, soundless and radiating irritation.

_Well, really_, Suboshi thought. It was a stupid idea to ask the sword to tell him anything. What was he expecting it to do, grow a mouth and a pair of vocal cords?

He picked the sword up and drew it around himself in a circle, point-first. This time, he had better results. The sword's humming grew loudest when he pointed the sword north-west, directly down the length of the beach.

"All right," said Suboshi. "You'd better not be misleading me."

Again irritation. Or possibly, indignation.

Suboshi ignored it. He began to walk, trudging along the sandy beach. Gradually the sword began pointing him inland, toward the tangle of trees and vines that Suboshi had been dreading having to enter.

He had ample time to reflect on his newfound fortune as he walked. Of all four of the gods, Suboshi had always considered Suzaku the least inspiring. The god of the phoenix valued love and forgiveness and respect and other silly emotions that Suboshi had long since declared irrelevant. Suzaku was a god of peace not war. Suboshi the celestial warrior had suckled on stories of war and blood and death, had toddled through battlefields before he could talk, had killed men and children. The philosophy of Suzaku was anathema to him.

And yet, Suboshi had to admit that the phoenix god's sword was one hell of a blade. He studied the sword covertly as he walked, with the rather foolish feeling that the sword might be conducting its own observation of _him_. Of course, that was ridiculous; the stupid blade didn't even have eyes, much less the ability to make judgments about its owner. And why should Suboshi care what a magical blade thought, anyway?

But the sword had its uses – especially during an ambush. When the possessed bandit leaped from the nearby tree to ambush him, taking Suboshi completely by surprise, the sword almost seemed to leap to his hand to help him dispatch the man.

After the fight was over, Suboshi wiped the blood from the sword onto the grass and turned toward his assailant. The bandit's head lay on the leaf litter, eyes wide in a rictus of death. There was a hiss as a black shadow detached from his body and dissolved into nothing, and Suboshi breathed a sound of relief. He patted the sword gently and sheathed it.

Suboshi had just enough time to hope that there were no more bandits in the area when he heard the scream.

It came from somewhere quite nearby, a short jog away. The scream was too high-pitched to be a man's scream, or even a woman's. It was the scream of a child, a child terrified or in pain.

Suboshi hesitated. All Suboshi's instincts, honed from years of surviving in the rough, were telling him to get as far away from the sound as he possibly could.

But the sword did not like that at all. Suboshi sensed its displeasure, just as he had earlier sensed the weapon's irritation. Wasn't Suzaku supposed to be sealed? he thought. It seemed absurd that he had the energy to boss Suboshi around like this.

"Curse you," Suboshi snapped, and he headed toward the source of the noise. The woods were dense and thick, and he had to force his way through some of the underbrush shoulder-first. By the time he was finished, he had more scratches than he could count, and his temper was foul.

The scream had come from within a modest cottage, nestled into a hollow in the woods. Suboshi had just enough time to take in the house's wide-open door and shattered windows, before he heard another scream, abruptly silenced. He didn't think after that, just stormed in through the demolished front door.

There was blood everywhere. The house stank of it. In the corner lay a teenage girl and two boys who looked to be her brothers; both were obviously dead. In the other corner lay an old man, his throat slit. Suboshi's eyes passed over all of these in an instant and settled on the only two people who were obviously still alive.

One was a bandit. His eyes gleamed red like a man possessed – which he probably was. The other was a young girl, perhaps six or seven, who clutched the old man's arm with all her might. She seemed to be unharmed, although there was so much blood throughout the room that it was hard to be certain.

The whole scene looked eerily familiar, but Suboshi did not have time to ponder that right now. "Oy," said Suboshi, and – before the surprised demon had time to react – he pushed the sword of Suzaku into its chest.

Then Suboshi took the girl by the wrist – her wrist was dirty with blood, but he didn't think it was hers – and pulled her out of the bloodbath. He realized she was resisting and tugged harder, until he was half-dragging her.

They both collapsed outside the house. Suboshi was panting. He looked at the blade, red with blood, and wiped it quickly in the grass.

The girl was already scrambling to her feet. She made a beeline for the house, and he grabbed her by the wrist before she could go two paces and yanked her back. "What are you doing?" he said. "Don't go in there again!"

"No!" she said, fighting him. "No, no, no!"

"Your family's dead," said Suboshi, not releasing his grip. The girl pushed forward anyway and overbalanced, nearly dragging Suboshi to the ground with her as she fell. He waited, impatiently, for her to get up. Instead, she buried her face into her arms and sobbed desolately, not seeming to care that the muddy ground was making her blood-spattered gray dress even filthier.

Suboshi stood and watched her for a minute. He glared at the sword for putting him in this situation. When it didn't seem like the child would be getting up anytime soon, Suboshi left her and went back into the house.

The smell was just as bad as it had been a few minutes ago. Suboshi looked around, holding his nose, looking for any other sign of life, but there was none. The man on the bed was dead; the room fair reeked of death. Suboshi decided he hated demons.

Because the dead inhabitants of the house didn't seem to have anything interesting on them, he turned instead to the bandit, rummaging through the man's clothing. He found a pocket-knife, which he put through his belt, and a few gold coins, which he stuffed into his pocket.

He jumped at the sound of a noise behind him, but it was only the girl; she had followed him back inside and was standing on the threshold, staring at the carnage around them. She stepped forward, across the dead bandit's arm and reached a hand out to trace the lines of her father's face.

Suboshi reached over the girl's head and closed the man's wide-open eyes with his fingers. They were bothering him.

"We should get out of here," he said. "Bandits come in packs. I killed another one on the way over."

The girl didn't move.

Suboshi snarled with annoyance and spun around, scanning the room for anything remotely useful. He found a few meager potatoes, and some vegetables, but that was all. The girl was stick-thin, so it didn't surprise him that the house didn't have more food, but it still depressed him – not that either of them were in any state to eat with all the blood around.

He dragged the girl out of the house again. It amazed him that she hadn't collapsed from the stench just yet, but then, she seemed to be a farmer's brat; she was probably used to ungodly odors.

Once outside, he wheeled her around to face him. "You have to get out of here," he said gruffly. Because he was being particularly nice, he pulled out the knife he had lifted off the grimy bandit and pressed it into her hand. The girl turned it over and over as though she'd never seen a knife before. It was not promising.

Cursing the sword for getting into this mess, Suboshi ran his fingers through his hair. "You've got to get out of here," he said again. "Like I said, bandits come in packs. Best bet for you is to make your way to the nearest village. They might give you money in exchange for work. But if you stay here, you're probably dead. Those demons just kill for the fun of it. They don't care whether or not you've got something worth stealing."

She didn't move.

"Well, I tried," Suboshi said, mostly for the sword's benefit, and he turned on his heel. "You want to die, just stay here then. I'm done."

He was almost to the creek when he heard light feet behind him.

"I'm not going to your village," he said over his shoulder. "You can't come with me. I'm on an important mission."

He waited for her to turn away, to go some other route, but the footsteps continued, persistent and infuriating.

"I'm not going to stop and rest," he called over his shoulder, "and you're not going to be able to keep up with me! Stop following me, dammit!"

He wondered if she was deaf. Deaf or mute or just really stupid.

_She'll tire eventually,_ he thought, _and then I'll be rid of her. _

A muffled squeak sounded behind him – the sound of a hapless girl running into a tree branch he had carelessly let fly a moment earlier. Suboshi snorted.

_And good riddance, too._

One good thing about their encounter was that it had helped Suboshi to get his bearings. The girl had a southern accent, which suggested that they were still in Konan. Judging by the terrain, Suboshi guessed he was somewhere near the Konan-Kutou border. If he kept on heading north, he would soon be in Kutou. That made sense; the others were headed toward a lake in the Kutou midlands. Suboshi smiled for the first time in days, and strode forward, pausing every so often to check his direction with the sword.

All through the afternoon, Suboshi heard the girl's footsteps behind his. At times, she panted. His stride was ludicrously long for her, and she was forced to jog to keep up.

"I told you I wouldn't stop to rest," he said loudly, as he heard her yelp again. "Go back now, before we reach Kutou. They do bad things to kids without parents in that country, especially girls."

He cast an involuntary glance over his shoulder and was annoyed to see that his words had had no effect. She trailed him as doggedly as ever, and her expression showed nothing – not anger, nor pain. The dullness in her eyes unsettled him.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, as they came to a stream. "I've told you and told you to go back."

She passed him and knelt, sucking water from the stream as though it were air. He watched her for a moment. She really did look pathetic; her arms were stick-thin, and she looked like she hadn't had a good meal in days. But she answered him clearly enough, staring him straight in the eye while they got water.

"_Onii-san_ always says – _said _ – that when someone does you a favor, you pay them back one in return." He was surprised to find that she could talk; even more surprised when she spoke in complete sentences. "I'm coming with you until I pay back my debt."

For a moment, Suboshi was rendered almost speechless. Then he found his tongue.

"You owe me nothing," he said, surprised. "Besides, how could a little thing like you pay me back anyway?"

"I'll do it somehow," she said.

Suboshi splashed water on his face and stared at her. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Yurien."

He had not bothered to learn the names of Tamahome's family before they died, and the name meant nothing to him. "Well, _Yurien_," he said. "I'd suggest concentrating on staying alive. You won't be any use to anyone dead."

She stared at him, unspeaking.

_What's the use?_ he thought. "I'm dropping you off at the next village," he said, turning away. "And that's only if you can keep up with me until we get there."

-v-

Miaka's party traveled late into the evening, until it was so dark they could barely see ten paces ahead. They had followed the river upstream for most of the day, and they camped once more on the river shore.

Miaka helped feed and water the horses, fighting off Amiboshi's insistence that he could do it for her. _Tomorrow, _she thought, _tomorrow we reach the lake and I summon the gods, and all this will be over. _She tried to muster enthusiasm or excitement, but she only felt tired and worried. She could not shake off a deep cloud of foreboding, the sense that something awful was going to happen.

She ate mechanically, which worried Nuriko, who kept attempting to feel her forehead. Amiboshi to offered to play her a tune to calm her, but Miaka declined. "I think I'll take first watch," she said. "I don't feel like sleeping just yet."

Was it her imagination, or did Amiboshi and Nuriko exchange a worried glance at her words? "Nakago already agreed to take first watch," Amiboshi said.

Miaka frowned. "I'll talk to him," she said, wrapping her cloak more tightly around her. She grabbed a blanket out of her pack – the night promised to be a cold one – and then strode to the edge of the clearing.

She found Nakago seated at the edge of the forest, staring into the trees. He had rebandaged his arm; the cloth around it was white and not red, which she found faintly reassuring. But his face was still so unnervingly pale –

"I really don't think you should take watch," she said. "I'll take watch in your place."

"Will you?"

His tone gave away absolutely nothing at all. Miaka frowned and sat down beside him.

"Are you sure this is wise, miko? Sitting next to a man who's infected with kudoku?"

"I'm not going to catch kudoku from you just by sitting here," she snapped. "And, unlike Tasuki, I don't think you're going to go crazy and slit my throat without warning." She glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "Although I'm quite sure you feel worse than you're actually letting on. Don't think I didn't notice how you distracted everyone earlier, when you brought up the Emperor's sword."

"I fail to comprehend your insinuations."

Miaka touched Nakago's arm. He drew back quickly, but not before she saw some of what was troubling him.

Blackness. Terrifying and nauseating, devouring him from within. It was so much worse than that time he'd let her catch a glimpse of it in Hotohori's prison cell – it had spread so _far –_

Miaka wanted to retch. But that wouldn't help matters any. And there was no point bringing up what she had just seen; Nakago knew already how bad his condition was. Perhaps it hadn't been as bad as she thought. She had only caught a little glimpse, anyway. _He just has to last until tomorrow, _she thought, _just until tomorrow –_

And so, Miaka returned her hand to her lap and, striving to keep her voice normal, said:

"Given your condition and your injury, I'm impressed that you were thinkingabout the sword of Konan earlier. Enough to realize that I had the wrong sword, I mean."

Nakago said nothing.

"Which means," Miaka continued, speaking along with her thoughts, "that you probably noticed the swords were switched awhile back and were waiting for the proper moment to bring it up."

Still he said nothing, only watched her. Nonetheless, Miaka was sure she was right. "I don't think you should be on watch," she said, huffing sharply and hugging her elbows against her chest.

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's a perfectly valid point," said Miaka, "and I dare you to disagree with me. There are five other people in our camp who are perfectly able to stand watch. You need to rest. You can keep watch tomorrow, after we've summoned the gods."

Nakago studied her. Miaka got the sense that he was deliberating over how much to say to her. "The kudoku makes sleep difficult," he said to her finally. "Seeing that I must be awake, it makes sense to put my alertness to good use."

She unfolded her arms and sat down beside him. "Fine," she said, tracing a pattern in the dew, watching the fine silver droplets dissolve at her touch. "Since you insist on keeping watch, I'll keep watch with you."

"An unnecessary precaution." She heard him settle himself more comfortably to her left. "Particularly since you seem more inclined to stare at the grass than at either myself or the trees."

She looked up from the ground and glared at him. An angry retort rose to her lips, but she knew that that would buy her nothing. Instead she looked out into the darkness.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, presently. His arm was still bandaged, but that was not what she referred to; they both knew it. _Does it hurt to have your soul consumed by a malevolent poison that seeks to crush you and quarter you and turn you into a person you are not?_ Miaka bit her lip. Of course it must hurt.

Nakago did not respond for a long moment. Miaka wondered what thoughts were going through his mind, whether he was irritated with her for reminding him of the kudoku, whether he was even now fighting back pain. It was so hard to tell; _he_ was so hard to understand, even after days of traveling together. How could he continue so uncomplainingly? She would have been in tears from the wounds he had received during their journey, would have been forced to ride a horse, or let someone carry her. And here he was taking watch!

"No," he said presently. "Not right now."

She had almost forgotten the question by then, and had to think back a moment to recall what she'd asked him. When she did remember, she was sure he was lying, but she let it be; what use was it to either of them dwell on pain?

Her eyes drooped. Try as she might, she could not fight back the yawn that burst out of her. She snuck a glance at her watch partner guardedly. How could he still be awake, she wondered, still sitting so straight with his eyes on the trees?

"You should rest," he said. "You've a long march ahead of you tomorrow."

"So do you," she said, yawning. "I told you, I'm keeping watch with you until the next shift."

"Sleep, miko."

"Perhaps a little… nap… would be all right." Miaka jabbed a finger at him. "Wake me up in exactly fifteen minutes, understand?"

"As you wish."

"Good." She was so cocooned in blankets and cloaks that she must look like a puffer fish; nonetheless, she scooted closer to him – and, in a fit of maneuvering of which she was quite proud – managed to lean her head comfortably against his shoulder. In spite of the many layers, she felt Nakago tense a little in surprise. Miaka had to fight back the urge to giggle hysterically. A fair enough retribution for the egregious invader of personal space, she thought gleefully.

"To what do I owe this honor, Suzaku no miko?" asked Nakago. She couldn't see him, but she could imagine him regarding her, half sardonic, half amused.

"This will ensure that you actually _do_ wake me up in fifteen minutes. Besides, you're softer than the ground."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," she murmured. The wind sifted through the trees, sighing. Within minutes, she was asleep.

-v-

Her head was warm on his shoulder.

It was odd, but he felt slightly better in the company of the miko. The sick, dark feeling that had been clawing his insides since that morning had receded when the miko joined him. For so diminutive a person, the miko of Suzaku was remarkably good at dispelling monsters.

It was not a thought he would ever be able to share with her.

The necklace of Genbu was digging into her neck. She had been wearing it since they capsized, and possibly before, on the ship. Nakago frowned and unclasped the necklace and then tucked it into the pocket of her cloak. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he tucked another item into her cloak as well: Tomo's _shin. _

The miko muttered something in her sleep and sighed but did not wake. Nakago was glad of this – had she woken, it would have made his departure far more difficult.

Nakago sensed two presences behind him. He did not have to look to know who approached. "Take her into one of the tents," he said, without emotion. "See that when she wakes, she makes no attempt to follow me. You remember what we discussed."

The boy Amiboshi nodded and lifted the miko gently. He was half in love with her already; any fool could see that.

The Empress of Konan was the one who hesitated. He could see her lingering, hands moving as though nervous.

"Speak," he said.

It was hardly the appropriate tone to take when addressing an empress. Nakago saw the woman bristle at the command. He had not initially wanted to include her in this. Amiboshi was biddable, easy enough to persuade and command; the Empress was used to giving orders herself. But she had noticed him sneaking off with Amiboshi last night at the inn, and had almost instantly surmised what the meeting was about. Lord Saheiti's wife was not half as silly as she pretended to be.

"Miaka will not take this well. Is there really no other way?" she said bluntly, now that Miaka was out of sight. "Kudoku _is _reversible, under certain circumstances – you know as well as I that Miaka was able to reverse kudoku once –"

"A freak event, no more." Nakago smiled coldly down at her. "Do you truly believe the same method would work in this instance?"

He had expected her to grow angry; instead, the Empress sighed. Perhaps some of her husband's patience had actually rubbed off on her over the years. "Miaka would try to stop you," she said, "but I'm not going to do that. What must be must be – I understand that. But you… will be remembered. I will see to that."

"Kindly do not have my heroics sung about in the halls of your palace," Nakago said, with a curl of his lip. "My actions are purely selfish, I can assure you. Consigning myself to be a demon's tool does not appeal to me."

"Purely selfish," the Empress agreed. "So I see."

Without warning, she flung her arms around him, in a hug so quick that he barely had time to register it. She released him almost as soon as the hug had started, leaving Nakago staring at her. "What?" Nuriko said. "I couldn't just send you off to your death without a farewell gesture, and I _am _eternally grateful that you saved Miaka's life."

"Such touching concern."

The Empress rolled her eyes. "At least now we'll get a bit of peace without your sarcasm, and without you throwing punches in Tasuki's direction every gods-damned minute."

Nakago gave a sardonic smile and turned toward the forest.

Animals know when their time of death is approaching. Dogs will sometimes totter off into a secluded corner to die and be found days later by their distraught owners. The same is often true of cats.

Nakago would walk to his death on his own, away from the others at camp, away from the Suzaku no miko. Sentimental as she was, she would be distraught enough at his death, without having to see his dead body.

Live together, die alone – that was how the saying went. Nakago had been living on a mental island for most of his life. Since the death of his tribe, he had let no one in – kept his thoughts guarded, his true intent masked. He had plotted alone, and killed alone. Dying by himself would be trivial. It might even be a relief.

But there was one more person that he needed to see before he died, to resolve some of his unanswered questions, and to ensure that she did not pose a threat. Kaen was nearby. He had felt her draw close in the middle of the afternoon, and then retreat, out of sight of the camp, as though she was following them at a distance. He would not have long to walk before he found her.

But the kudoku did not seem to approve of this plan. Its malevolent tendrils were everywhere, throughout his body, poised to destroy him. Nakago's skull throbbed as he topped the edge of the rise above the riverbank. He had waited too long, he realized suddenly. He had lingered too long in the camp. He had underestimated the kudoku, miscalculated the time it would take to reach Kaen.

Even as he thought this, the throbbing in his skull intensified sharply, to an almost intolerable degree. The pain forced Nakago to his knees in the leaf litter, and he knew.

It was time. Time to concede, time to draw his knife.

Time to die.

Death did not frighten Nakago. He had died once already. Death might even be a relief. He remembered Mount Taiyoku, the calm serenity of it. Far better death than having his own body be used against his will.

Strangely, the Suzaku no miko was the one Nakago thought about, as death approached him. Would he have chosen the miko, he wondered now, had Tomo not forced his hand? He still did not know, but he had no regrets about the outcome. The Suzaku no miko was impossible, ridiculous, accident-prone, and overly sentimental – and yet, somehow, almost absurdly, he had actually come to care about her fate. He could allow himself this honesty, at least, at the end of his life. He had done everything in his power to ensure that she would succeed. Even now, there was no guarantee that she would defeat Tenkou, or survive this war – but it was up to her now – her and those foolish seishi she so adored –

Nakago withdrew the thin dagger from his belt.

As if in response to his action, the black throbbing in his temple spiked again. The kudoku was resisting him with every ounce of strength it had. It wanted him to give in. It wanted him to lie down, to allow the kudoku to change him, to _submit_ –

A face rose up before him, a memory. The Emperor's palice at Eiyou. Lord Saheiti's voice, speaking to him in distant, almost prophetic tones:

_When the time comes, when it is necessary, you will do what needs to be done._

"No," Nakago told the kudoku.

He would be a fool indeed if he'd come all this way just to fail.

Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on the dagger and raised it.

Movement on his left. Nakago stopped. His gaze was blurring – but he could still hear footsteps – the sound of someone approaching. A lithe figure was appearing from the trees – a form that (despite his clouded vision) he recognized instantly –

"Hello, Nakago," said Kaen, and, reaching forward, she plucked the dagger from his fingers.

-v-

**Author's note: **Ack. Don't kill me. (Dead authors can't update).

Thanks so much to Athira789, Helena, kaza85, Gauri, and various Guests (lol) for your reviews! Hopefully I've answered all of your questions below. I love getting concrit and feedback, so drop me a line, even if it's just "This story sucks!" or "Suboshi is an annoying git!" or "OMGWTFKaen?"

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Do you plan to finish this story?**

Yes, I will. Unless there is some kind of horrible catastrophe like tornadoes destroying my house or the world getting hit by an asteroid. I already know how it's going to end. And I have… a chunk of the ending written already! –pumps fist in the air-

**2. If Nakago is coming under control of kodoku which is a mind control drug, what will it tell him to do? Take Miaka to Tenkou, and kill anyone helping her?**

Pretty much. Tenkou needs Miaka (for reasons that will be revealed).

**3. How will Nakago come out of the kudoku? Will a blue flower rescue Miaka and Nakago again or will it be entirely up to the feelings they have for eachother (like Tamahome and Miaka did in the anime)? **

You're assuming that he will escape the kudoku… – insert evil anime villain laugh– I can't say too much about this for fear of giving away the story. You'll just have to see.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Were characters OOC in the last part of this chapter? (Nuriko, Nakago, I guess Amiboshi didn't really say anything…)

2. Did the flow of this chapter strike you as odd, at all?

3. Too much angst? Not enough angst?

-v-

Disclaimer: I OWN EVERYTHING! (…In my dreams). Actually, everything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase.


	53. A house divided

…

**LIII**

**A house divided**

…

"So let me make sure I'm getting this _entirely_ straight," said Keisuke. "You had a conversation with The Book."

"Yes."

"And The Book – er – talked back. And it told you that Tenkou was originally from our world, and that you can modify events in the Book by writing them. Except, just as you were going to ask it more questions, you got a phone call and your entire conversation vanished off the page. Are you _sure_ you weren't dreaming?"

Tetsuya glared at Keisuke. It would do no good, he thought pragmatically, to wrap his fingers around his best friend's throat, even if said best friend was currently sitting in his armchair, eating his last bag of Oreos, and staring at him with an expression of unadulterated skepticism.

The Book lay in Keisuke's arms, open to the last page Keisuke had had time to read before their conversation started. Tetsuya glared at it, too. It had no right to sit in Keisuke's lap, looking smugger and more insolent than an inanimate object had any right to be.

Tetsuya took a deep breath and counted to twenty in his head. Then he folded his hands in his lap. "I wasn't dreaming," he said carefully. "I wasn't asleep. It was _real_."

"Well, why isn't The Book saying anything when we talk to it _now_?"

"I don't know! Maybe it's just tired – I think I'd be a bit tired if I had to chronicle the journey of your trouble-magnet sister day in and day out –"

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Tetsuya was tired, too – tired of being disbelieved, tired of having to bawl things in Keisuke's ear, and most of all, tired of being awake. He'd probably slept a total of eight hours in the past three nights, which was less than Keisuke, who had caught up on his Zs at the Hongo's place. So as Keisuke turned fuming eyes on Tetsuya, Tetsuya folded his arms and snapped:

"Only that if there was _a single covered well_ in all of the Universe of the Four Gods, Miaka would probably manage to trip, smash through the cover, and fall down into it. And then there would be a demon at the bottom of the well, and she would manage to wake it up by landing on it."

Keisuke huffed air through his nose. "If you don't want to be involved in this, fine! I never _asked_ you to figure out where Tenkou came from. Or to research how The Book works–"

"Excuse me, I thought that request was implicit _when you came to me for help the day after Miaka vanished!_"

"For heaven's sake! Will both of you _please_ calm down?"

Yui's voice sounded tinny and thin broadcast from Keisuke's laptop microphone, and she was speaking more softly than usual since she didn't want to wake up her parents; nevertheless, both Tetsuya and Keisuke paused to look at her.

Yui's parents had not been pleased to discover that Yui had allowed Keisuke to stay in their guest bedroom, and had been even less pleased to learn that their daughter had been routinely skipping classes for unspecified reasons. Now, Yui was confined to her room until she finished her homework – which apparently included a massive biology report on viruses, five hundred geometry practice problems, a paper on the burial practices of the ancient Egyptians, and an essay on the importance of punctuality.

It had been Yui's idea to connect with Tetsuya and Keisuke using video chat. She glanced over her shoulder surreptitiously, as though checking to make sure her parents hadn't installed hidden cameras in her room, before saying:

"Tetsuya. What _exactly_ did you do to make The Book talk to you the first time?"

"I –" Tetsuya frowned. "I tried to give it a command involving Tenkou. But–"

He glared at The Book, which was currently clutched in Keisuke's hands. He had already thought of trying to use this particular tactic to wake The Book up again, but he _really_ hadn't wanted to arouse The Book's ire. Besides, what if even _writing _the word 'Tenkou' had unforeseen consequences? Hadn't The Book scolded him earlier for writing without thinking? He'd already caused Miaka to say 'Hi' and caused it to rain. And Tetsuya had a sinking suspicion that he might have been responsible for the lightning that struck Miaka's ship – that scribble he had drawn earlier, when he was trying out pens from his bag, had been vaguely lightning shaped…

But Yui was right; they needed to learn more; Tetsuya needed to prove that he wasn't insane; and maybe – maybe if he was careful this time –

Tetsuya held out his hand for The Book and beckoned imperiously.

Then Tetsuya's realized that Keisuke had ceased paying attention. Keisuke had been using Tetsuya's moment of distraction to resume the frantic book-skimming he had been doing since he arrived in Tetsuya's apartment that evening. _And he still isn't caught up yet. _

"_You can't have it!_"Keisuke clutched The Book to his chest protectively as Tetsuya tried to pry it away. "Miaka just caught hypothermia!"

"Correction," said Tetsuya, "Miaka caught hypothermia two days ago; she's perfectly fine now; and you're still in the process of catching up with past events. You should really just read the most recent events, there's nothing important that happens between where you're at and the most recent page."

_Plus or minus a couple kisses with a certain Seiryuu shogun, which would probably send your blood pressure through the roof. _

Tetsuya sighed. "Can I have the book _please_? This should only take a minute."

Prize in hand finally, Tetsuya brought The Book over to his desk. Then, very slowly and carefully, Tetsuya lowered his pen to the page.

He had only written the first stroke when words appeared beneath his pen. YES? said The Book, radiating irritation.

Behind him, Tetsuya heard a very gratifying '_thunk_' as Keisuke dropped his phone.

"Taiitsukun was Tenkou's wife, wasn't she?" Tetsuya asked.

I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT WAS OBVIOUS.

"All right, sorry. One more question. Can you tell me anything about the specific rules that Tenkou put in place?"

IF YOU THINK I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO ALL DAY THAN HELPFULLY SIT HERE AND ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS, YOU NEED TO TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK. WHO DO YOU THINK I AM? SIRI?

Tetsuya tried not to think about how The Book could have found out about certain features of the iPhone 4S as he barreled forward. "Look, can you _please_ answer this for me? Just this one question."

CAN'T REMEMBER THEM ALL OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD. BUT I'LL TELL YOU ONE OF THEM. PROBABLY HIS MOST IMPORTANT. EVERY PERSON FROM YOUR WORLD HAS EXTRAORDINARY POWERS IF THEY ENTER THE UNIVERSE OF THE FOUR GODS.

"Extraordinary powers – what sort of extraordinary powers?"

ON THE LEVEL OF WHAT YOU PEOPLE NORMALLY ASSOCIATE WITH GODS.

"Why was _that_ one of Tenkou's rules?"

Had it been in possession of a nose, The Book might have snorted. WHY DO YOU THINK? TENKOU WANTED INFINITE POWER FOR HIMSELF AND FOR HIS FAMILY. OF COURSE, TENKOU PUT IN THE ADDENDUM THAT THE POWERS WOULD GROW OVER TIME. WOULDN'T DO FOR SOMEONE TO ENTER THE WORLD AND THEN MANAGE TO OBLITERATE THE WORLD ON THE FIRST DAY BECAUSE THE HAPLESS SOT GOT OVERLY EMOTIONAL AND DIDN'T KNOW HIS OWN STRENGTH.

_So Miaka –_

ARE YOU DONE INTERROGATING ME? CAN I GO BACK TO REPORTING ON THE EVENTS IN MY WORLD NOW? SOME VERY INTERESTING THINGS ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN.

"All right," Tetsuya said faintly.

Yui, on the computer screen behind him, was clamoring to know what was happening. Keisuke was demanding the return of The Book. Tetsuya relayed the most recent developments to Yui, and then handed The Book back to Keisuke.

Then he sat back to think.

It all was starting to make an absurd sort of sense. Tenkou had been confined somehow, had lost all his powers – and now he wanted Miaka brought to him – he was banking on _Miaka_ developing godlike powers – Tenkou didn't just want to punish Miaka, he _needed_ Miaka to help him –

"We have to warn Miaka," said Yui, who was obviously thinking along similar lines.

The trouble was that Tetsuya did not see how they could warn Miaka. "I could write in The Book," he said doubtfully.

"I'm not talking about using The Book." Yui would make a good businesswoman someday, Tetsuya reflected; she had an air of one who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. "In fact, I don't even think that's a good idea, since it didn't seem to like you writing in it very much. We ought to keep it happy."

"Then –"

Yui let loose an impatient huff. "I've been sharing dreams with Miaka," she said. "I'll tell her the next time she falls asleep."

"She is asleep," said Keisuke from his armchair.

Yui blinked. "Oh. Then I guess I should probably sleep now. I'll meet Miaka, tell her everything we found out about Tenkou and Taiitsukun and The Book being sentient. Is there anything else you guys want me to tell her?"

"Kaen."

Keisuke's voice held a foreboding ring, one that that made Tetsuya's hair stand on end. Keisuke cleared his throat and said hoarsely, "You mightwant to tell her about Kaen."

-v-

"Hello Kaen," Nakago said calmly.

The knife was heavy in Kaen's hands, heavier than she had expected for a weapon so small. Kaen, who had picked it up by the blade a moment earlier, had very narrowly avoided cutting herself on the thin steel that ran somuch sharper than any of the knives she was used to – knives that were used for slicing vegetables and meats in the safety of the kitchen. She shifted the blade, grasped the knife by the handle, and held it between herself and Nakago like a shield.

Nakago's words sent a rush of fear skittering up her spine. Something about his poise unnerved Kaen. He sounded calm – far too calm for a man who was being held at knife-point. Almost as if he'd been expecting her.

Kaen took a step backward, so that she was closer to the safety of the forest that ringed the small clearing. Her hands shook. _You must see to it that Nakago remains alive_, Tenkou had told her in last night's dream_. Do not allow him to take his own life. _She had thought it would be simple at the time. But it was so hard to be strong with the darkness all around, and a murderer in front of her.

"How did you know I was coming?" she asked sharply.

"The same way I know who brought the storm down on us on the South Sea. The power you use has a burnt flavor to it, like a tree touched by lightning. _Such _a distinctive signature would be very difficult to mistake for another's."

_Of course, _Kaen thought_, of course he would know because he can see power, and it's Soi's power I'm using, and he and Soi were – and he did things to her – took her power all those times – he knows what Soi's power looks like – _

"What do you want?" she said aloud. "You can't hurt me – you're barely able to walk now – I _saw _you fall –"

"Of course you did. Because you've been following me for the last five minutes." He stared at her, his eyes cold and sharp and watchful. If Kaen had looked closer, she might have seen the sheen of sweat upon his brow – but the night was dark, and even in the open clearing, beneath the moonlit sky, she had to strain to see his face. "I want confirmation. To a set of questions I believe I have already answered successfully. After that, you may take my life as you please."

"I'm not _going_ to kill you," said Kaen, hands shaking around the dagger. "I'm going to leave you _alive_. To make sure the kudoku takes effect. That's the whole point."

Kaen was unnerved. Tenkou had _said_ Nakago would be like one on the verge of death this evening, that he should be – if not entirely docile – then at least somewhat delirious. The kudoku, Tenkou had said, was supposed to be making him _safe, _so that Nakago would not be a threat to her anymore. Seeing Nakago so lucid was like opening the lid from a roasting pan expecting to find a roast chicken and instead discovering a live eagle inside – perhaps an eagle with very sharp claws and homicidal tendencies and a peculiar fondness for wordplay. Nakago still seemed fully in control of himself. Still dangerous.

Still terrifying.

As if sensing her fear, Nakago smiled. It was a deadly sort of terrifying smile that almost lead Kaen to drop the knife she was holding. Kaen reminded herself that she had just seen Nakago fall to his knees a few moments ago. He wasn't going to kill her. She was on the other side of the clearing. He couldn't.

"You made a pact with Tenkou," he said, "sometime after we left Souen, after Soi was gone. Somehow, Tenkou gained access to your mind. Perhaps he infiltrated your dreams; the Suzaku no miko didsuggest that Tenkou was able to use dreams to access her mind, so that is most likely. No doubt Tenkou was very persuasive."

She had met Tenkou for the first time in a dream, the night after the battle at Souen, the night after the arrow had wounded her and Miaka had saved her and Soi had left. _You look tired, my poor child, _he had said to her gently – _so_ gently – and something in his voice simultaneously soothed her and made her want to weep. _What ails you? _he had asked, and Kaen, who could think only of the arrow and Nakago and the bad men at the inn and her own defilement –a swirling, chaotic, abyss of memories that she could never escape from– Kaen had choked out:

"I wish I was dead."

He had held her as she sobbed, held her kindly and tenderly.

_What is it you want most in the world? _he had said. _For your life to go back to the way it was? _And, when she'd nodded, he had told her, _ I can erase the memories that haunt you._

She had been wary of his kindness at first. He was Tenkou, the master of the demons that Miaka and Souen and the others were fighting. He had kind words, but evil creatures often used kind words to hide the rot that festered inside. Was that not how Nakago had persuaded Yui to do his bidding? But Kaen had wanted, so desperately, to believe that he might cure her. "Show me," she had demanded. "Show me proof that I can trust you. That you can cure me of this malady. That my life could go back to the way it was."

And he had shown her, releasing her from the darkness, erasing the terrible memories for an hour – and she was left feeling blissfully lighter. But after that hour the memories had returned, almost worse now because of their absence. And when she had begged him to help her again, he had shaken his head, and said to her sorrowfully:_ I cannot; I lack the power to keep you safe for long in my current state. That is why I require your help. I need you to help free me from my prison._

That conversation had given rise to their agreement, that she would do his bidding until he was freed from his prison. And then, once he was freed, he would help her in turn. Make her a normal girl again, with a normal girl's thoughts and wants and feelings. So that she would no longer have to be frightened.

But to make that happen, she had to make sure Nakago succumbed to kudoku. She had to endure the presence of the man who haunted her thoughts so badly – the wicked, cruel man who Soi had given her life for – the man who wore _kokoru_ on his _forehead_ because he had no real heart in his_ chest_ –

Nakago was staring at her, smiling a kind of cold half-smile that made her feel weak – as though he knew all her secrets –

"It was you who set fire to the Suzaku no miko's house in Eiyou," he said, which really did nothing to alleviate this concern. "Tenkou would have needed a physical body to light it. I suppose afterwards you were subjected to a bout of guilty conscience that caused you to return to the scene of your crime –"

She had been so terrified, so utterly, thoroughly terrified at the thought of having to set the fire. She had asked Tenkou why – _why_ must she do this. Didn't he want the Suzaku no miko alive? Hadn't he promised her that the only ones who would come to harm would be Nakago and perhaps Suboshi, who had killed all those children?

_Ah, but the house is holding Miaka back, _he had said. _It gives her at least as much grief as comfort. She won't die in the flames – she is a miko of Suzaku after all – and, in the end, when the war is over, she will thank you for this kindness, Kaen. _

Still, she had felt like a traitor, especially when the flames had spread to neighboring houses, and she had slipped out returned to the site the next day –

Nakago was still watching her, and she felt suddenly appalled. Because it was appalling that the man in front of her should be saying these things after all he had done – after some of the memories she had seen –

"You have no right," she said harshly, "no right at all to speak to me of conscience, after all the things I've seen you do. Miaka wouldn't have died. I would never have done anything to _kill_ her – "

"Instead, you settled for a bringing the Suzaku no miko to the brink of madness," said Nakago, still smiling that awful half-smile. "Your concern for her safety is heartwarming. Although I notice that your sentiment for the priestess of Suzaku did not stop you from calling a storm to destroy our ship on the way to Kutou. Did you intend for the miko to be struck by lightning, or was that an act of sheer incompetence on your part? I _have _been wondering."

"Of course I didn't mean to strike her!" Kaen's hands shook around the dagger. "Tenkou wants to keep Miaka _alive_ – I don't want her to _die_, either _–_ I just meant for the storm to blow the ship off course –"

"– and your powers got away from you."

Nakago smiled coldly.

"The most thoroughly ironic – dare I say _amusing_ – aspect of this whole affair is that you are entirely ignorant of the extent to which you have been manipulated. You believe yourself clever – and yet your actions have been so entirely predictable that you have allowed yourself to be played not just by Tenkou – but also by Soi. You've been a pawn in both of their games, a gullible fool. Do you want to know why?"

Kaen could do nothing but stare at him.

When she had been just a child, growing up in the Kutou capitol, she had often visited the marketplace, chaperoned by her older brother of three years. After one of these excursions, Hisoka had taken her by the hand and convinced her to take a detour home.

_We shouldn't be going this way, _she had said, looking over her shoulder with fear as they trod down back alleyways that stank of old fish. He had ignored her and pressed forward. She had wanted to leave then, wanted to go home, but she was as terrified of what lay behind her as what lay ahead. By then, they had traversed so many turns and twists that Kaen wasn't even sure she knew the way home. _This isn't safe – this is the bad part of the city – we ought not to _be _here–_

But her brother had said nothing and tugged her onward with a kind of implacable determination. He was still angry with her for tattling on him after he'd filched twenty silver from the family coffer the day before. This was her repayment.

He had finally stopped, in front of a dilapidated, tired building. Some of the windows were open, and Kaen could hear forced laughter drifting out, over the smelly alleyway. As she'd watched, a drunken man staggered out, smelling of liquor and old sweat. Kaen had recoiled and pressed against Hisoka.

_Do you know what this place is? _Hisokahad asked her, taking her by the shoulder and shaking her. _It's a place where little girls get sent when they've been very, very naughty. A bad place where little girls are locked up and forced to please men and aren't released until they die. _He'd leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her cheek. _I've already told the mistress of the house about you. She says she doesn't usually take girls as old as you, but she could make an exception. She'd even give me 20 silver for you. _

Kaen had stood, petrified, and Hisoka had taken her arm to lead her up the stairs, tugging her forcefully. And then she had screamed, screamed as loud as she knew how, until the nearby windows had rattled with the sounds of her shrieking.

_Shut up, _Hisokahad yelled at her then. _Shut up, Kaen – I was just kidding, it was all just a _joke – And then he had folded his arms across his chest and laughed and laughed and laughed as she stared into his eyes, bewildered. _You're such a gullible little fool! _he'd told her then. _Such an ignorant, gullible little idiot. Nobody's going to send you here. Maybe if we'd lost all our money in the war, like we almost did, but not now. _

"At first I could not understand the source of your power." Nakago's voice drew Kaen back to the present, though his words seemed to be coming from very far away. "I believed that you were subduing Soi's essence and stealing her power – perhaps with some help from Tenkou. But when I examined you I felt only your chi and Soi's – Tenkou's mark wasn't on you.

"And then I realized: all along, Soi has been giving you her power _willingly_."

"Yes," Kaen said, fighting to regain her voice, "because she _promised _me, she _promised_ me she'd let me have my body back, she said she'd_ go away_ –"

She remembered that night, the night Soi had left – she had felt the pain of her wounds even when Soi was in control of their body. _How could you_, Kaen had asked Soi, _how could you take over like that – leap in front of Nakago, __**give our life for his?**__ We had an arrangement – you told me you wouldn't_.And Soi, with apologetic, sad eyes that Kaen still couldn't forgive, had suggested a new arrangement, one which she would not break this time. Soi had said Kaen would get her body back.

"She never left," Nakago said coldly. "All this time, she's been inside you. Watching from the sidelines. Waiting."

"Don't," said Kaen, but she was breathing fast now, because she couldn't be certain he was lying. Her brother's words echoed in her head: _such a gullible, ignorant little fool! _ "Don't be r-ridiculous – why would she do that?"

"_Because she wanted you to side with Tenkou._"

Silence.

"But she would never have sided with Tenkou." Kaen felt a bolt of annoyance, of anger. "She does only what _you_ approve of, and you're Tenkou's enemy – that's why we're here right now – because you betrayed him –"

"Soi would not have sided with Tenkou herself. But Soi knew that you _were _capable of plausibly siding with Tenkou. I suppose she also suspected that _you _would be the first one Tenkou targeted, if she vanished."

Nakago smiled.

"She wanted you to side with Tenkou, to side with him believably, so that when the time came, she could take control and then _betray him. _The only remaining question is why."

-v-

It was like Kaen's expression was rippling. Even as Nakago watched, it grew calmer an quieter and focused, an expression he was far more used to seeing on that body's face.

"You were only half right," Soi said quietly. "I really thought, on the night after I took the arrow, that I was dying. I was very weak; I knew that, even if I did recover, it would be days before Soi's power was fully healed. So much of my power was gone.

"It was only when Tenkou came to Kaen later, promising that he would rid her of the memories that tormented her – and Kaen agreed to help him – that I realized that this situation might be used to all of our advantage. I tried to find out more. I watched; I listened; I gave Kaen my power when it returned, so she could do the tasks that Tenkou required of her.

"But it seems I've failed in the end," she said sadly. "I learned nothing relevant to countering the effects of kudoku, which is what's needed most right now."

"Then you will have to kill me," said Nakago.

He heard Soi inhale sharply.

"Kill me," he continued dispassionately, "and locate Suboshi. He is in possession of the sword of Konan, and he is not far from here. He will serve as Seiryuu seishi during the summoning ceremony, in my place."

Soi hesitated.

"There isn't much time," said Nakago. He allowed a thread of strain to filter into his voice. It was a subtle sound – the barest hint of tension.

But Soi heard it.

She was still holding the knife Kaen had stolen from Nakago. The metal glinted in the moonlight as she stepped toward Nakago. Nakago felt the metal kiss his neck. Closed his eyes.

A soft noise reached his ears, a swallow. The metal trembled against his neck.

"I –" said Soi. "I can't –"

"Give me the knife," Nakago commanded.

-v-

Kaen saw what was happening, as though from a great distance. She saw her hard work disintegrating before her eyes. She saw Tenkou's disappointment in her, her hopes of being cured vanishing to nothing before her eyes.

_NO_, she screamed, and she threw herself against Soi's essence with all her strength.

If Soi had given Nakago the knife quickly, Kaen would never have succeeded. But – faced with Nakago's last, very final request – Soi hesitated. It was only a brief pause, the barest implication of reluctance. Twenty milliseconds, if that.

But it was enough.

Nakago had underestimated Kaen. Kaen was afraid of many things, but there is a fundamental difference between timidity and _weakness_. And if her strength of will paled in comparison to Soi's, the element of surprise with which she launched her attack now rendered Soi's advantage moot.

Nakago saw the look of surprise cross Soi's face a split second before Kaen took control. Then Kaen dragged her body backward. She reached her arm back and flung the knife with all her strength, away from the clearing, into the undergrowth.

Kaen turned back to Nakago, breathing heavily, triumph in her eyes.

"You've lost," she said.

-v-

**Author's note: **This chapter was actually a fairly late addition (I was originally going to go straight back to Miaka) but I wanted to explain Soi's actions, so here we are. Hopefully this helps clarify the Soi/Kaen issue somewhat and resolve some key questions (like how Kaen was using Soi's power earlier). Also I apologize if my editing is a bit sloppy – I was in a bit of a rush on the editing front today.

Thanks to _Helena, kaza85, _and _tohru78 _for your reviews! I love love love getting feedback so drop me a line, even if it's just "This sucks!"

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. What in the world is Kaen up to? Is she trying to help Tenkou? **

Kaen is trying to help Tenkou. Soi, on the other hand, is lurking in the background, trying not to let all of this go to pot, with limited success.

**2. Will Suboshi get to the others in time to summon the gods?**

Now that would be telling.

**3. Will Nakago go straight for Miaka and not give her time to assume he is dead? Will Miaka find a way to sneak from the camp and then get kidnapped?**

See previous answer.

**4. What is Kaen going to do? Will she let a demon overtake Nakago?**

She's letting Nakago succumb to the kudoku.

**5. Will Miaka wish for Nakago to be healed? (Although that is another selfish wish…)**

No. Good guess though!

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

Everything making sense? (Particularly on the Tetsuya front but also with regard to Kaen/Soi?)


	54. A matter of worlds

…

**LVI **

**A matter of worlds**

…

Miaka was dreaming a strange dream – strange, but not unpleasant. Nakago was there, and he was saying something to her, talking to her in calm and soothing tones. He was telling her that they were close to defeating Tenkou. Then he said her name, and she _knew_ it was a dream, because Nakago had never, ever said her name in all the time she could remember.

She struggled to wake up – there was some important reason that she needed to be awake. What was it?

Then the Nakago of her dream turned his back on her and headed away from her, making his way toward the forest. Miaka ran after him, yelling at him to stop, but he was moving too fast. By the time she arrived at the forest edge, Nakago had vanished into the mist. Miaka called his name, but there was no reply, only the cold, lonely sound of the wind through the treetops.

Then Tenkou appeared out of the mist, smiling and dark and horrible, and he caught her wrist as she turned to run. "I've won," he whispered in her ear. "The Nakago you know is gone and I've _won_."

Miaka's heart pounded in her chest. She yelled and screamed and kicked and tried to push him away – she didn't have time for Tenkou – she had to _wake up_ –

And then she was awake. Every one of her senses tingled with the sick, awful feeling that something was wrong. She had gone to sleep on Nakago's shoulder, so why was she on her back on a pallet? Where on earth was Nakago. Had he transferred her to the tent in her sleep? That was probably it. But then why – why was this feeling of utter foreboding coursing through her?

She sprang to her feet, fighting free of her blankets and the cloak that lay on top of her, and hurried out of the tent. By the fire's dying embers, she saw a cloaked figure on sentry duty. Relief filled her. Nakago hadn't left – Nakago was fine – Miaka opened her mouth to berate him for letting her sleep too long…

Then she realized that the figure was not Nakago at all, but Amiboshi. Miaka was struck with an even-more-powerful sense of foreboding. She hurried toward Amiboshi and fell to her knees on the damp grass beside him.

"What's going on?" she asked shakily.

Amiboshi's face, she noticed distantly, was a mask of guilt. Fear caused Miaka's heart to leap into her throat. "Where is Nakago?" she demanded.

Amiboshi said nothing, but the guilt in his eyes confirmed her worst fears. Miaka swallowed and tried to stand up, but Amiboshi somehow managed to get a grip on both of her wrists. "Let me go," she said angrily. "Nakago left, didn't he? Tell me which way he went."

"You're not going after him," said Amiboshi.

"LIKE HELL I'M NOT!"

Amiboshi's grip on her wrists tightened further. He spun her around and covered her mouth with his hand, pulling her toward him. She bit his hand, but he didn't let go.

"You can't go after him," Amiboshi whispered. "I'm sorry, Miaka. He said you'd react this way, but I promised –"

_No!_ thought Miaka. She did not stop to hear the rest of what Amiboshi had to say. She had to free herself, and she fought and struggled and kicked, and even bit at the hand that was covering her mouth. Amiboshi hung on grimly; she could taste blood on her lips from where she had bitten him.

This was not supposed to happen. She was supposed to find some way to save Nakago – fulfill her promise to Soi – get all of them out of here alive. They had been given a second chance, all of the celestial warriors. Nakago had been given a second chance, and she had failed him – and if he died, their mission would fail. They needed the warriors from each of the four gods in order to do the summoning properly – they needed Nakago's knowledge of the lay of the land to get them to the lake, and Nakago's fighting skills to get them past the demons that would surely be guarding it. Didn't Amiboshi see this?

"Suboshi will – take over as the warrior – of Seiryuu," said Amiboshi. He was panting with the effort of holding Miaka captive, and the words came out ragged, uneven, and strained. "Nakago says – Suboshi's not – far away. Nakago gave me – and Nuriko – directions on how to reach the lake. Miaka, stop – it's no good! He's probably already gone –"

The words 'already gone' seemed to echo through her head like a death knell. Abruptly, Miaka stopped struggling. She turned toward Amiboshi, her face tear-streaked and miserable. "I don't believe it," she said.

"Miaka –"

"The stupid fool – the _idiot!_ He always laughs at people being for being _noble_ when really, he's just as bad as they are! – I'm going. To find him."

"You won't find him."

Miaka looked up at the sound of this new voice. Nuriko stood in the shadows behind Amiboshi. The Empress' eyes were as terrifyingly serious as Amiboshi's. Miaka felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "He's already gone, Miaka. He left near an hour ago. Don't even think of following him. I guarantee you won't find him."

"You're in on this too?" Miaka stared blankly at the Empress. She could feel herself shaking, her shoulders trembling of their own accord. "I don't believe it," she said.

She could hear noises from the camp now – the sounds of weary and irritated voices roused from slumber. Amiboshi's grip on her was loosening.

"It's all right," Nuriko called over her shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

Miaka saw Amiboshi glance toward the camp. For an instant, his face turned away from Miaka's – and in that moment, she drove her fist sharply into his ribs. He released a breath with a muffled hiss, and released his grip on her wrists as well, and she sprang away.

"Miaka –"

She was already running toward the forest. Her shoes crunched loudly against the dry leaves. Just like in her dream, the woods ahead of her were bathed in mist. The sight filled her with terror. Heart pounding, Miaka halted at the edge of the wood and fought to catch her breath. "Nakago!" she shouted. She cupped her hands to her mouth and tried again, louder and more desperate. _I have to find him_.

But just as in her dream, she had no idea where Nakago had gone. She strode back and forth along the edge of the trees, hoping to find a sign or a clue about Nakago's whereabouts. But the forest was so dark that she could barely make out her hand in front of her, much less try to track a missing warrior through the forest.

Then someone grabbed her wrist. Miaka screamed and jumped away.

"Easy – it's just me."

She stared into Amiboshi's gray eyes, trying desperately to calm her thumping heart. "I thought you were Tenkou!" she hissed. She registered the confusion in Amiboshi's eyes, but there was no time to explain about the dream. She thought quickly. "You know which way Nakago went," she said. "Tell me."

"I don't know where he is."

"_Tell me!_"

She turned back to Amiboshi, eyes like fire; without thinking, she flung a barrier out to engulf him. He flinched back from it, eyes wide and hurt.

"Tell me," Miaka said coldly, taking a step closer,_ "_and I'll let you go."

Amiboshi regarded her furious eyes, and white lips and tear-stained face.

"Tell me _now!"_ said Miaka.

"Miaka, no!" said another voice, and Nuriko grabbed at her arm. The Empress hissed and jumped away; the next second Miaka smelled burning flesh.

Amiboshi raised his head. "Miaka, he asked us to do it. Nakago made us promise not to tell you. He knew you'd react like this."

"And you actually listened to him?" Before she knew it, the words were rushing out of her, quick and venemous, like a poisonous snake. "You trust in people too readily, Amiboshi! Do you ever use your mind to actually think things out for yourself? Do you ever second-guess the orders someone gives you, or do you just _do_ them? If I told you to jump off a cliff, would you say 'Yes, Miaka, right away!' and happily leap to your death? If Tenkou told you to light a house on fire, would you do that too?"

Silence filled the clearing. Miaka covered her mouth with her hand, but the awful words were already out and impossible to take back. She could tell, from the sudden stiffness of Amiboshi's posture, that she had wounded him.

"What's going on? It's the &#$ $ing middle of the night, you know!"

The noise they were making had woken Subaru and Tasuki as well. They staggered forward, bleary-eyed and covering yawns.

"Nakago left," said Nuriko. "He decided he wasn't safe to be around anymore, and –"

"He sacrificed his own life?" Subaru put a hand to her mouth, looking stunned.

"What?" Tasuki stared back and forth between the two women and went slowly pale as the understanding hit him. "Suzaku's balls… He didn't…"

"He might still be alive," Miaka said fiercely. She turned back to Amiboshi, who stared back at her, unsmiling. The coldness in his eyes hurt her, and she shrank back a little. "Just tell me where he went," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Please. Just tell me."

"It's no use," said a voice behind them. "Nakago is – he's dead. I watched him die myself."

Slowly, Miaka turned to face Kaen.

Kaen's dark hair was matted and tangled. Her eyes were dark and sunken, as though she had been living in the throes of a nightmare. They gleamed dully in the moonlight. Her clothes were tattered. Her left sleeve hung on by only a scrap of fabric, and scratches dotted her exposed arm. Her bare feet were so encrusted with dirt and blood that they appeared almost inhuman. Miaka fought not to recoil in disgust. She could tell that Nuriko was having almost the same reaction.

"He killed himself," Kaen whispered.

Nobody said anything. Nuriko made a funny little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a curse. Amiboshi was also motionless, even though the soft glow of Miaka's barrier was fading. Miaka stood frozen, hardly able to breathe. A voice in her head was screaming. It could not be true. Kaen had made a mistake.

"What happened?" Amiboshi asked quietly.

Kaen's dark eyes lifted toward him. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. "He – he begged me to take his life –" she said faintly. "I – I couldn't do it – and then –"

_She's gone mad_, Miaka thought. _She's not sane, and she's lying. Just look at what she's wearing! _"Nakago wouldn't beg," she said.

Kaen toyed with the tattered sleeve of her tunic, unspeaking. The bones in her shoulders stand out like the bones of a greyhound. "He was too weak to do the deed himself so he pleaded with me to take his life," she said in a high voice. Her words were nervous, but she sounded sane. (_But mad people can sometimes sound sane! _Miaka thought stubbornly). "I suppose he preferred death to becoming a demon."

_No,_ thought Miaka. _No. No._

"I want to see him," she said, the words emerging ragged and strained from her lips. "I want to see his body."

"Miaka –"

"Miaka, no –"

"What good will that do?" said Kaen sharply. "He's dead."

"_I don't care!_" said Miaka. "What if he's not? Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you're lying –"

"Why would Kaen lie?" Amiboshi asked quietly.

"She's not sane!" Miaka shouted. "Just look at her!"

Before Miaka even registered that Nuriko had started to move, the Empress had stepped forward and slapped her. The blow sent Miaka sprawling onto the leaf litter. Bewildered, Miaka stared up at the towering form of her seishi.

"In the end, Nakago preferred an honorable death to a dishonorable end at the hands of a demon. Like Chiriko, he made a choice, a sacrifice to protect all of us! Would you dishonor that sacrifice by endangering yourself?"

"I…" said Miaka.

Something was falling apart inside of her; the muscles in her face weren't obeying any of her commands. Miaka felt her face begin to crumple. It started with a tightness in her throat and then her mouth was working soundlessly, beyond her control. White mist was filling her eyes, making it difficult to see. Nuriko reached down to help her up. The next second, Nuriko's arms were around her. Miaka buried her face in the folds of Nuriko's robes. Her body heaved with wracking, shuddering sobs. Tears and snot were soaking the fabric of Nuriko's splendid robe, and Miaka didn't care.

"I was s-supposed to protect him," she whimpered. "I f-failed – I couldn't do it –" _Just like I failed Tamahome. You idiot – how did you ever fool yourself into thinking that you could protect _anyone?

Nuriko hugged her tighter. Distantly, Miaka realized that the others were moving away, back toward camp.

"Sometimes there are battles that we can't win," she said. "Where the odds are stacked so high against us that coming out triumphant seems entirely impossible. Yet we choose to fight anyway. Why is that?"

"I don't know," Miaka whispered.

"Neither do I," said Nuriko. She continued to stroke Miaka's hair. "I can only speculate. Hope makes us gluttons for punishment. We can't live without hope, but it causes us to do absurd things, stupid things. Sometimes those stupid things work. More often, despite our best efforts, we fail."

The wind whispered in the treetops. Nuriko's voice was soothing, almost like the words of a poem. Miaka's heart began to slow.

"So the secret is not to hope?"

"No," said Nuriko. "The secret is to more carefully choose the things we hope _for_."

Miaka understood. Nuriko was, in a convoluted way, telling Miaka that she ought to honor Nakago's sacrifice. She ought to stop hoping that Nakago was alive, and instead focus on summoning the four gods. That was her main task, her duty, her mission. Nakago had given his life so that she could succeed.

"You're not going to run away as soon as I let go of you, are you?" said Nuriko. Numbly, Miaka shook her head. Nuriko's grasp on her loosened. The seishi rubbed Miaka's cheeks, where the salty tears had begun to dry, and fussed over her hair. Miaka was starting to shiver. Nuriko shook her head.

"You didn't even bother to put on a cloak did you? Idiot."

"I'm not cold," Miaka protested, as Nuriko draped her own cloak around Miaka's shoulders.

Nuriko snorted in reply. "Nakago said you almost died of hypothermia two days ago."

"Nakago doesn't know what he's –" Miaka blinked. "_Didn't_ know what h-he –"

For some reason her lip was trembling again. Miaka fought to still it. It was so stupid. She was acting like the child Nakago had always accused her of being. Her former enemy was dead – it wasn't like the world had ended–

"Oh, Miaka…" Nuriko hugged her again and brushed the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "You actually _liked_ the insufferable bastard, didn't you?"

"Liked him?" Miaka repeated blankly. "I mean, I'm sorry he's dead."

She supposed she had grown fond of Nakago, in the way one can grow fond of hated enemeis one has been fighting so long that their absence leaves a great void in one's life.

"That's what I meant," Nuriko said smoothly. "It's all right – I liked him too. Life was much more _interesting_ with him around.

"But your seishi are still here, and you have a duty to all of us now. You have to get to the lake and summon the gods. And hope damn hard that Suboshi turns up along the way, I suppose."

Without Nakago. Miaka tried to imagine such a journey. She had come to rely so much on Nakago that the thought of continuing the journey without him was almost frightening. What would life be like now, without his sarcastic remarks to get her out of bed in the morning – without Nakago's perverted sense of humor or –

_I must really be going mad,_ she thought. _I have four other seishi with me, to help me finish this task. It's not like I'm on my own again, like I was after Tamahome died. _ All the same, she felt as though a great weight had settled on her shoulders. Somehow, even with Nuriko nearby, Miaka felt terribly alone.

Was this what growing older felt like? You had to accept the fact that people died and there wouldn't always be someone to look after you. She didn't think she was ready to be an adult – but did she even have a choice anymore?

"It was hard," said Nuriko, as though reading her thoughts, "leaving Hotohori and Boushin. That was probably the hardest thing I've done in my life. I knew that they would probably die if they stayed in Konan, but certainly die if I stayed there with them."

"Nuriko, I'm sorry," said Miaka, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, too," said Nuriko soberly, staring at Miaka frankly. "Now, go find Amiboshi and apologize for what you said to him."

"Oh!" Miaka had forgotten about Amiboshi – and Kaen. Both of them had slipped back to camp quietly while Miaka and Nuriko were talking. The words Miaka had spoken to Amiboshi floated into her mind, and Miaka cringed. What exactly had she said to him?

"And I burned you," she said, grabbing Nuriko's palm and staring at it aghast. If she turned Nuriko's hand back and forth she could make out a shiny patch on four of the woman's fingers. "And said horrible things to Amiboshi. What sort of monster am I turning into?"

"A very tired, overwrought, and overly honest one." Nuriko pulled the sleeve of her robe down, covering her burnt hand. "What you said was true, to some extent. Amiboshi is extremely accepting and careful of what he says. He doesn't like to cause trouble, so he accepts others' wishes and desires, and he also accepts the hand Fate deals him.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't care – or make decisions about things that are truly important to him. In the Shijintenchisho, he left his seishi and his priestess – the priestess he had been waiting his whole life to serve – because he couldn't stand to be responsible for the deaths of innocent people."

"I know," said Miaka. She balled her hands into the fabric of Nuriko's cloak. "I ought to be more like him. Instead I just charge off and say the first thing I can think of."

"And that's why you have your seishi," said Nuriko, tousling her hair. "To get you out of trouble!"

Miaka reached forward. "I _will_ defeat Tenkou," she said. "I will make sure Hotohori and Boushin and all my seishi are safe, Nuriko, I promise."

"That's my girl!" Nuriko said, giving her a brief hug. "Now hurry off to bed so you can save the world tomorrow."

Miaka did make her way to bed, but she took a brief detour first. Amiboshi had gone back to guarding the campsite. She found him beside the fire, staring out into the fog-shrouded wood and fingering his flute absently.

She took a seat beside him. The grass was wet with dew, which soaked through her dress, but Miaka didn't move. Amiboshi stared resolutely out into the forest, the breeze from the river wafting his hair gently. She knew he knew she was there, but he did not greet her. Miaka knew she was going to have to begin this conversation.

"I didn't mean any of what I said," she said finally. "It was wrong of me. I'm sorry, Amiboshi."

For a moment, Amiboshi didn't speak. Miaka wondered how badly she had hurt him. She toyed idly with the same blades of grass she had played with two hours before, swallowing. He was going to give her the silent treatment, then? Very well, she would just have to _show_ him how sorry she was through her actions later.

She was about to stand up when he finally did speak, to her relief:

"You're right," he said.

"What?"

He turned toward her, shrugging. "I would rather make peace with people than argue. I may have killed before, but I'm not really a fighter."

"You may not be a fighter," said Miaka softly. "But that's not a bad thing. You are wise – wiser," she added ruefully, "than I'll ever be. Now I know why Taiitsukun made you Genbu's honorary seishi. I'm lucky to have such a person with me on this trip."

"We all make mistakes," said Amiboshi. "Maybe allowing Nakago to leave wasn't the right thing to do. Perhaps he could have been saved. But it was what he wanted. He might have said he did it solely for himself – but I think – I think he wanted to give you a chance at summoning the gods."

"I guess he did. And I _will_ summon the gods." Perhaps if she kept saying it often enough, it would be true. All Miaka knew was that she felt impossibly weary.

"You ought to sleep," said Amiboshi.

"I think I will." Miaka stood up, brushing grass off her skirt. "Good night, Amiboshi."

She left him crouched by the campfire, still toying with his flute, and slipped into the small tent that had been set up to house her, Subaru, and Nuriko. Nuriko had already returned and appeared to be sleeping. Quietly, Miaka returned Nuriko's cloak and tiptoed past them, toward her pallet.

She was halfway there when she realized that another pallet had been set up between hers and Nuriko's. Kaen lay upon it, asleep. Miaka had almost forgotten about Kaen's return.

Miaka tiptoed past Kaen's sleeping form and crouched down on her pallet. She glanced at the former Seiryuu seishi. Kaen was not moving, but her eyes darted restlessly beneath her eyelids. Kaen's hair was damp, and someone seemed to have combed it. Her robes were also considerably less tattered.

Miaka could not help but remember a conversation that had occurred on a night much like this one. She remembered Soi, lying prone in the moonlit cave, in roughly the same position that Kaen lay now. Hard to believe it had only been two weeks ago. _Protect Nakago_, Soi had said.

How laughable that all seemed now. _What manner of protector was I, really? _Miaka thought. Soi had sacrificed her life for Nakago twice, throwing herself in front of her lover to keep him from harm. Miaka had stabbed Nakago with a kudoku-tainted blade with her own hands and then slept through Nakago's departure from camp.

She could not think about that now. What mattered most was that everyone make it to Tenkou's lake, that the gods be summoned, that she go home. _Home_. It was like a sweet scent, a breath of fresh air after all of this horror. She would finally be able to leave this place – see her brother, Keisuke, and Yui, and her mother, and her other friends from school…

But to get home she first had to brave Tenkou.

Something banged against her leg as Miaka pulled her blankets over her. Miaka paused. She felt around in her nest of cloaks and blankets and realized that one of the pockets of her cloak was strangely heavy, even though she couldn't for the life of her remember putting anything inside it herself…

Reaching inside, she drew out the necklace of Genbu. Frowning – _How did that get there? _– Miaka replaced it around her neck. But something else was still in her pocket – something small and smooth and oblong –

She withdrew the small object from her pocket and let it rest in her palm. For a moment she stared at it, trying to come to terms with the fact that Tomo's _shin_ had once again come into her possession. The clamshell was polished and beautiful, the same as it had been the day Nakago had taken it from her, after she'd been prying into his memories.

"He left you with me," said Miaka softly. Inexplicably, a hard lump rose up in her throat for the third time that night. _He left his _memories _with me_.

Somehow, the sight of the _shin _cradled in her trembling palm finally brought home to her the fact that Nakago was really _truly_ gone. The Nakago Miaka knew would never have willingly have given up the secrets of his past unless he believed there was no point in hiding them anymore.

Miaka felt tears well up in her eyes again. One particularly fat, wet tear slid down her cheek and hovered on her chin, as though attempted to decide whether it really wanted to drop. Miaka swiped it away with her hand before it could fall, but another tear rushed to replace it – then a third – and a fourth after that –

"Get a grip on yourself," Miaka snapped. She heard Subaru shift fitfully in her sleep, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She reached blindly around the tent for a handkerchief. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, wiping her nose. "I _refuse_ to fall to pieces just because that insufferable bastard is dead. I didn't even like him."

But she couldn't help but think that over the past month, she really had come to care about the self-satisfied jerk. During his time in her presence, Nakago had been sarcastic, cruel, and everything in between – but he had saved her life and comforted her after the fire, had forced her to face her own demons, and had taught her to defend herself.

_And he was our best hope of defeating Tenkou, and now he's _gone. With each passing moment, Miaka felt herself growing angrier. _What the hell was he thinking? How dare he just go off into the woods to die?_

She scowled at the _shin_, still gleaming in her palm. "And he left you with me," she said. "I don't suppose he left some kind of prerecorded message inside you, telling me what I'm supposed to do now?"'

She bit her lip and slowly teased open the lid of the clamshell. She did not know what she was expecting. Perhaps she thought some kind of Nakago hologram would appear in the middle of the shell to deliver a message, with a detailed plan describing her next steps. When all that appeared in the _shin_'s pearly depths was an image of young Taria and Ayuru wading through a sea of flowers, Miaka felt her stomach sink. She bit back a discouraged sigh.

Young Ayuru was refusing a flower wreath from Taria, scowling at the girl and saying something that made Taria huff and glower. Ayuru waved his hands at Taria and the flowers. Miaka leaned closer; it was hard to hear, but he was seemed to be saying something along the lines of "_I'm not a little girl!_" Taria's face went red, and she grabbed Ayuru by the arm and shoved him into the lake. Miaka almost smiled. She had already seen this before, of course, but it was like watching a movie a second time – you caught details that you never saw before. Like the way Taria turned red whenever she looked at Ayuru and then tried to hide it by yelling at him.

The scene with the flowers was replaced by an image of Ayuru hurrying past a line of jeering Kutou boys with Matuta. They were being pelted with pebbles from the road. Both had their heads down, and they seemed to be hurrying as fast as possible to escape the Kutou boys' heckling. The smile died on Miaka's face – but her heart barely had time to clench in sympathy for Ayuru before this image, too, was replaced. This time, the _shin_ chose to portray a scene from Ayuru's house. Matuta seemed to be cleaning up after a meal, and Ayuru was helping her with the washing. The sky outside was slowly darkening. Through the window of Matuta's house, Miaka thought she caught a glimpse of red. Miaka felt a deep sense of tragedy, because she knew what was coming. She flinched as the Kutou soldiers broke down the door to Ayuru's house. They backhanded a protesting Ayuru and surrounded Ayuru's mother – grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her outside –

Miaka found that she could not bear to watch any longer, and buried her face in her pillow. When she dared to look again, Ayuru's clan was being marched toward the palace of Kutou. She made out Ayuru and his mother and Taria, in chains near the back. The villagers they passed threw insults at them and pelted them with rocks. And they all took it – Ayuru and his mother and Taria – hunched over like beggers, gaunt and bedraggled.

Miaka had already seen this scene too. But she found herself paying particular attention to it now. It jogged her memory of the things Soi had told her in the cave weeks before, when Soi had extracted the promise from Miaka to protect Nakago. Nakago had killed his mother, Soi had said. His powers had exploded out of him, and he had lost control, and the attack that was meant to destroy his mother's attackers had ended her life as well. That would have happened the same day Ayuru's clan was attacked, the day the Kutou soldiers had raped his mother –

But in this alternate universe, Ayuru's mother had lived through that day, and Ayuru was innocent. Free of that terrible guilt.

By this point, Miaka's nose was almost touching the scene in the clam shell. The images within the _shin_ had expanded obligingly, and Miaka could see every detail of Ayuru's world with extraordinary clarity.

Ayuru's mother was dead. Miaka could see Ayuru at Matuta's bedside, looking lost and alone and confused. Taria was comforting him. "_It's all right_," Miaka heard Taria say. "_I'll protect you, Ayuru. We'll take care of each other._"

That hadn't happened in the Shijintenchisho either. There, Taria had escaped, and been caught, years later, by Kutou soldiers. Nakago hadn't acted quickly enough to save her. The Emperor had made him believe that her death was his fault. But in this world, Ayuru and Taria were both in the palace together, both the Emperor's pets. It was awful, Miaka thought, but not quite as awful as it had been for Nakago, in the Shijintenchisho. Ayuru and Taria weren't alone – they had each other. _At least until Taria killed herself because she discovered that she was carrying the emperor's child. But that wasn't until Ayuru was almost my age. _Miaka shuddered. _Taria was my age too, when she died. _

And Ayuru had loved Taria, or at least cared what became of her, or he wouldn't have asked Ragun – Tomo's counterpart – to help Taria escape the palace on the night before she died. Shijintenchisho Nakago hadn't loved anyone, except perhaps Soi. Miaka didn't even know if he was capable of love. She thought she was beginning to understand, but she had to keep watching the events in the _shin_ to know for sure…

She saw Ayuru's father, a purposeful general who looked eerily similar to his son despite being dark instead of fair. But Gi Koyuu did not die in combat with his son; instead, they fought together in a battle and he was wounded, stabbed through the heart. Ayuru did not weep for him, but his face was masklike as he took full control of Kutou's army.

And then, a new scene, different from the others. Miaka could sense a kind of stillness engulfing the entire world. Miaka watched in fascination as she witnessed, from the outside, the merging together of the worlds.

She had lived through it, of course, but it wasn't the same, seeing it from this angle. For a moment, time seemed to stop within the clamshell, a kind of eerie weight descending on all of its inhabitants.

She saw pale things, like ghosts. They were so hard to spot that she almost couldn't see them – could only catch glimpses of them if she looked out of the corner of her eye. _The people of the Shijintenchisho,_ she thought. _When I made my wish, they all must have flowed from the Shijintenchisho into this world. _

One of the ethereal beings, Miaka suddenly realized, was Nakago. She watched him stalk toward Ayuru and look the other man up and down as though appraising him. Ayuru, Miaka was sure, had also seen Nakago. Miaka held her breath.

As if coming to some decision, they merged together, the pale ghost of Nakago flowing into Ayuru's body. Miaka watched in fascination. Ayuru's body seemed to be struggling to accommodate two people at once. His face, which was slightly more expressive than Nakago's, registered surprise for a moment. Then his features smoothed over into the mask Miaka knew so well, the mask that revealed absolutely nothing unless you knew what to look for. Nakago's face.

At long last, Miaka thought she understood what she had done when she used her second wish to merge the worlds. Ayuru and Nakago really had been different people – at first. But Nakago's was the dominant personality, and when he and Ayuru had merged, Nakago had taken full control. He had plotted for the throne of Kutou, peppered Miaka with insults, and schemed with Tenkou for power. But Ayuru was still _there_. He had continued to guide Nakago's decisions from the sidelines in subtle, barely-perceptible ways. It explained so much – like why Nakago had taught her to master her powers, and why he had saved her life on multiple occasions. And it explained why Tenkou had not really trusted Nakago after the worlds merged. The demon lord had probably sensed that Ayuru would be much less willing to follow him than Nakago – and the combined product had made him uneasy…

And this sort of sloppy world-merge had affected all of the other seishi as well. Miaka's wish had whisked everyone – including Tenkou, Taiitsukun, and the four gods – out of the Shijintenchisho where they belonged, and into this new world, which lacked seishi, chi, and gods. Miaka, Taiitsukun, Tenkou, and the gods did not have counterparts in this world, so they were the same as they always had been. But all of the seishi had been forced to adjust to the dual presences in their bodies, and that had changed them in myriad ways. Adding to the confusion, two of the four gods had been sealed, throwing the realms of heaven and hell into turmoil. Like an opportunistic parasite, Tenkou had taken advantage of his weakened bonds and begun fighting for control of the mortal realm. And the people of this alternate world were not used to dealing with chi, gods, demons, or seishi. In making her wish, Miaka had essentially done the equivalent of what the Conquistadors had done when they gave smallpox to the American natives many years ago. This alternate world had been hale and healthy until Miaka's ill-conceived wish invaded it.

_So do I separate the worlds again?_ Miaka wondered. But she felt wrong just thinking about it. Most of the people she had encountered – from Nakago to Nuriko – had come to accept their dual personalities. Their Shijintenchisho selves had integrated with their other-world selves, almost seamlessly. Miaka sensed that breaking them apart now would have disastrous consequences. And some of them had found happiness. Nuriko had everything she'd ever wanted in the Shijintenchisho: Hotohori, Boushin, and the title of Empress. Mitsukake was happily married to Shouka. Miaka could not bear the thought of taking their happiness away.

No, she would just have to make sure that this new, composite world was safe. Protected from those who intended to use the world's newfound power for evil. She would use her wishes to seal Tenkou and to free Seiryuu and Suzaku.

That ought to restore the world to rights.

-v-

**Author's note: **Something of a filler chapter I guess, but it needed to be done. At least it hopefully explained some things.

Thanks so much to _Nile1283, Helena, sorrow, kaza85_, and _megumisakura_ for your reviews! Hopefully I answered all your questions. I love getting feedback, so drop me a line, even if it's just "This chapter was more melodramatic than my high school prom!" or "Miaka needs to take a chill pill."

-v-

**Disclaimer: **If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Yuu Watase.

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. Keisuke is so adorable. Does he have a habit of eating or else drinking when he's nervous?**

Yes, he is a sugar/caffeine addict.

**2. Tenkou is beginning to sound like Saruman now, with his soothing voice. **

Hahaha! Funny you should mention that. That's exactly what I thought when I was editing this chapter…

**3. How did Yui and Miaka manage to have such a connection? Why don't they connect more often?**

Good question -sweatdrop-. Because the author needed a convenient way to connect Miaka with someone still in her home world? Because the new world is in trouble and the boundary that separates it from Earth is disintegrating? Because the Rules of this new world are different and they allow two people who really, really want to connect to talk to each other? Because Miaka retained a scrap of fabric from her old school uniform and still carries it around with her? Pick your favorite… If I ever decide to rewrite/edit this story, I swear I will come up with a better explanation. At least I can answer why they don't connect more often: they both have to be asleep, and the time difference between worlds means that days sometimes pass in the book without Yui sleeping.

**4. But how could you compare Nakago-sama-chan to a bald eagle? Have you forgotten his shiny, conditioned, bountiful blonde locks?**

Hahahahaha! True, that. … Although I'm not sure what the equivalent of conditioner would've been in the feudal era…

**5. I am really pissed at Kaen! Why does she have to be dumber then Miaka?**

I wouldn't necessarily call Kaen 'dumb'. She is not very open-minded, and she is certainly naïve. Because she's naïve, she tends to paint the world in black and white with very little middle ground. Based on Soi's memories, Kaen has decided that Nakago is essentially the spawn of the devil with no redeeming qualities, and she allows this to cloud her thinking. She is also desperate to stop suffering from PTSD-type symptoms. Probably, she's realized on some subconscious level that Tenkou is using her, but she overlooks this because she wants to believe Tenkou will help her stop dwelling on all the horrible things that happened to her and Soi. She's actually very similar to Yui in some ways…

**6. How do Miaka's godlike powers manifest? Because what we've seen so far is related to Miaka having sealed Suzaku, not her special powers, right? I've wondered, if Miaka has stronger healing abilities due to her personality, or if these ARE her godlike powers.**

We've started to see some of Miaka's godlike powers manifesting with regard to her healing abilities already. I think Nakago has recognized in the past that Miaka _has _plenty of power (e.g. the blowing up the cliff face thing) – Miaka's problem is that she's still learning how to use her powers and it's still hard for her to use them efficiently. Sort of like a person who has the perfect body type for swimming, but hasn't practiced enough to be able to swim quickly. (Of course, now her training is on hiatus because of all the kudoku madness, which doesn't help matters).

**7. I wished that Soi would appear again! She is like a puppet master playing the fields from the shadows.**

Haha that is an awesome analogy. She'll be back again.

-v-

**Questions for you: **

1. Is it believable that Miaka would kind of lose it and start yelling at her friends? (…I admit it, certain Mary-Sueish qualities of hers were starting to bother me).


	55. Revelations

...

**LV**

**Revelations**

...

Yurien was a constant annoyance. Not that she actually spoke much. Save for their brief conversation at the stream, she had said nothing since leaving the miserable shack where her family lay dead. But she trailed Suboshi through the woods like a dog trails its master, not even trying to be subtle or quiet. Suboshi could hear her feet dragging against the ground, as though even the effort of lifting them fully was too much for her to manage. When they splashed across another stream, halfway through the day, he could hear her struggling across the ice-cold water.

Suboshi grew so accustomed to the sound of her presence that he noticed immediately when she halted behind him. Suboshi kept going, prowling forth like a hound on the hunt. She was probably just tired, Suboshi thought coolly. She would pick herself up and follow in a minute.

But one minute turned into two, and two minutes morphed into four, and even though Suboshi's pace slowed, he did not hear her. And the stupid sword was buzzing at him again.

"Shut up!" he yelled finally. "All right, I'll go back and get her. Stupid weapon."

Yurien was sprawled on the ground when he found her, nursing a nasty gash on her foot. She glanced up at him blankly as he approached her.

Suboshi felt an unreasoning surge of irritation. He glared down at the girl at his feet. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked grimly. "You were just going to let me walk away? Did you think you'd be safe here? Were you just going to lie here until the demons caught up with you?"

"I can't walk," she said matter-of-factly, "so you have to leave me behind now."

It was this kind of logic that really annoyed him. His brother often adopted the same quiet acceptance, usually when things went terribly wrong. That kind of passive attitude infuriated Suboshi, who couldn't abide it when people didn't try to fight. So what if there was no way of winning? Fighting was better than drowning in the certainty of one's own helplessness. You weren't dead until you were actually _dead_ – a lifeless, bloody corpse and all – why didn't more people _understand_ that?

"I _should_ leave you behind," he said to Yurien. Instead, he surprised himself by picking her up. She was disturbingly fragile in his arms. _I wonder what she eats, _he thought – but he already had some idea. The food they had taken from the small cottage was stale – barely enough to feed himself and Yurien for a day, much less a whole family. Suboshi had had enough experience scrounging for food after his parents' death to know what hunger looked like. And Yurien's current clothes were worn thin; they had the appearance of having been mended and patched and re-patched. Suboshi pushed this thought out of his mind and pressed forward.

He could not have been more relieved when they arrived upon a small town on the banks of a winding river, late that afternoon. But his relief quickly turned to fury when he realized that none of the townspeople would even consider taking in a strange child. The first three men he approached shook their heads and told him such dreary stories about famine and demons and hard times that he wanted to punch them. That was bad enough. But when he got to the farms outside town, it was worse. Two of the farmers refused to open their doors. They shrieked at him and called him a demon. The rest said it was unlucky to take Yurien in. As the sole survivor of her family's slaughter, she was cursed. After four farmsmen waved them away, Suboshi gave up. He stormed down the road, dragging Yurien behind him.

"Superstitious bastards," he snarled, and he kicked the nearest fence. All that this accomplished was immense and thankfully temporary pain in his toe. He scowled and continued down the road. Yurien, he realized suddenly, was hobbling along behind him, clutching a stitch in her side. Suboshi slowed down a little, and she caught up to him, panting.

"What's 'superstitious' mean?" she asked him.

"Superstitious means thinking a little girl is unlucky because she survived and the rest of her family snuffed it."

"I'm unlucky?" said Yurien, and her lower lip began to tremble.

"No," Suboshi snapped. "The townsfolk just think you are because they're stupid."

He could bang on the nearest door, he thought. Knock it down. Threaten the nearest townsman at sword point. But that still wouldn't do Yurien any good. The moment he was out of sight, she'd be tossed out of the house, and Suboshi wouldn't be there to make good on his threat.

No one had wanted to take in Amiboshi or Suboshi after their parents' death either. The same blind superstition that Yurien faced now had forced the brothers to fend for themselves very early in life. In the Shijintenchisho, their powers had kept them alive – Amiboshi's quick tongue and Suboshi's skill at controlling solid objects gave them a distinct advantage. But in this world, they might have starved had they not found their way into the city, where they had managed to eke out a living through wits and skill. Amiboshi had found an old flute in a garbage heap and taught himself to play. Soon, he was earning coin by playing at an inn near the place where the boys made shelter each night. He had tried to teach Suboshi so that they could play together. But Suboshi had never had the patience for that sort of thing; he was a fighter, and theft came much easier to him than teasing notes from an instrument. Suboshi was sure that his brother had often despaired of Suboshi ever living on the right side of the law.

Then Suboshi had started training to become a soldier in the Kutou army. He was young, but he'd had experience tussling bullies on the streets, and the pay was decent. A soldier could pull in far more than a flutist. Soon Suboshi was sending money home to Amiboshi. Until Amiboshi left the Kutou capitol for Hokkan.

"Come on," Suboshi said to Yurien, but she was still hobbling too slowly to keep up, so he picked her up again.

The style of the houses and the townspeoples' accents had, at least, confirmed what Suboshi had suspected: they were now in Kutou, and the nearby river was most likely the head of the Shoryuu-Gawa. They needed to be heading east and deeper into Kutou in order to reach the lake.

The village inn was closed, and they had no money to pay for a room anyway, so they made camp near the river, on the outskirts of town. At least the townspeople had given Suboshi bandages and food, enough for him to tend Yurien's foot wound and prepare a meager supper of stale bread and fish. In the lengthening shadows, Yurien looked miserably tired. She devoured her bread like she hadn't eaten in days. She was shivering slightly, so Suboshi gave her one of the blankets he had taken from her house, the one that appeared the least bloodstained.

"You should sleep."

She nodded, yawning, but she seemed confused about where to sleep. She probably hadn't slept outdoors before. Suboshi helped her to fix a makeshift bed for herself from their scant supply of blankets. He supposed he should get more in the morning.

"Thank you," she said, which surprised him a little because she hadn't spoken since that afternoon, when she'd asked whether she was unlucky. Then she said, "Am I going to have to sleep on the ground every night?"

"I don't know," Suboshi said curtly.

She seemed to accept this. "Father's not coming back, is he?' she said. "And Chuei and Gyokuran and Shunkei."

"They're dead," said Suboshi harshly. "That means they're not coming back."

"I know," said Yurien. "I remember when onii-san died. Everyone was very sad, and he never came back."

Her quiet acceptance nauseated him and soothed him all at once. It was the same way Amiboshi would have reacted, and Suboshi felt mildly unsettled at the realization.

"Is there anyone else in your family?" he asked. "Any other brothers or sisters I should know about?"

"Onee-san. But I don't know how to find her." Her lower lip trembled. "Maybe she's dead, too."

Suboshi tossed another log on the fire. "Does your onee-san have a name?"

"Miaka onee-san. She was married to my onii-san, but then he died."

In the act of throwing a second log upon the fire, Suboshi froze. The log he had meant to throw outwards fell sideways into the fire, dislodging a cloud of ash and dust. Suboshi cursed and coughed and cursed again as he shoved himself backwards, away from the flames.

Yurien was watching him, chewing her lip. Suboshi glared at her.

"Miaka onee-san," he repeated disbelievingly.

"She's not _your_ onee-san." It was the most spirit he'd seen the girl show all day. He saw her look at him, her eyes almost painfully hopeful. "Will you help me find her?"

_Miaka onee-san._

It had to be a coincidence, Suboshi thought coldly. _Had _to be. The odds of such a thing were so astronomically small.

And yet.

"Please –"

"_Shut up!_" Suboshi shouted.

He closed his eyes furiously against the look of deep hurt on her face and tried to concentrate. How many Miakas could there _be_ in this world? It was not a common name. And now that he thought about it, he could almost see a resemblance between this girl and Tamahome – a faint similarity about their eyes and cheekbones – and Tamahome's family had been in a house much like the house where he had found Yurien –

He wanted to retch. He wanted to run into the forest, track down the first living creature he could find, and kill it with his bare hands. He wanted to kill _her._

"What was your older brother's name?" he asked Yurien harshly. "The older brother of yours who died."

"Tamahome," she told him. "But he's –"

He didn't wait to hear if she said more; he was already away, striding furiously into the woods, the sword of Suzaku humming furiously at his side. Behind him he heard a small sound of confusion, and then cracking branches – the stupid girl was trying to follow him again, even in spite of the bandage on her foot. Suboshi ignored her. He hacked at the branches that impeded his path, and the leaves, and the branches too. He cut an indiscriminate path through the forest, not even pausing to plan out a trail; all he knew was that she was _not_ going to follow him, this stupid girl who was the stupid _Suzaku no miko's _sister-by-marriage, this brat who had _died _at his hand in a former life –

He cut and hacked and slashed through the trees. He was beginning to feel his own cuts and scratches as the branches whipped his face, but his anger was still burning. Amiboshi would have told him to calm down. But Amiboshi was probably dead – they probably all were – all except for that stupid _miko_, because if she were dead, then this thrice-cursed sword wouldn't be _humming_ at him like a hive full of hornets –

"Shut up!" he shouted again.

Miraculously, for the first time since he had acquired the weapon, the sword obeyed him.

Suboshi closed his eyes. As a Seiryuu seishi, he had been able to sense Amiboshi, but that was before his brother fell into the river and cut Suboshi off. Now, Suboshi couldn't sense anything. Amiboshi could be at the bottom of the ocean for all Suboshi knew, and it was all the thrice-damned Suzaku no miko's fault.

Not that Amiboshi wasn't partly to blame as well. _He'd _jumped into the river because he'd _wanted_ Suboshi, and the Seiryuu warriors, to think he was dead, so that the fighting could stop, so that Hong-Nan and Kutou could live in peace. It was just like Amiboshi not to imagine that the Seiryuu warriors might want to avenge his death.

Suboshi had tried to be mad at his brother for this, but that was almost impossible. Amiboshi had always been different – gentler – the kind of person who didn't like death – who wanted to see the good in others. He had saved Suboshi from his worst fits of temper. So Suboshi had forgiven Amiboshi and had given him the memory potion that would take away his memories. Amiboshi wasn't meant to fight.

That was where it all had ended, in the Shijintenchisho. But in this world, everything was different. In this world, Amiboshi had left Kutou to make his fortune, and Suboshi hadn't heard about him for months. And then the incident with Miaka had happened and Suboshi had hurried toward Hokkan to see if his brother still possessed memories of his former life. And he had managed to awaken those memories. And they had been brothers again.

But not quite the same as they were before. There had been distance between them, a distance that had been growing steadily ever since they set eyes on Konan. Suboshi did not understand the Suzaku seishi, who Amiboshi treated as friends. And then there was Miaka. Only a blind man could ignore the way Amiboshi looked at her.

It was strikingly similar to the way Suboshi had looked at Yui once, in the Shijintenchisho.

And Suboshi hated the Suzaku no miko for it. Hated her for taking away the brother that he had only just rediscovered. Hated her for forcing him to hate Amiboshi, who _had_ all his memories back again, but who no longer seemed to care that Suboshi _existed_.

Because Amiboshi had _her._

_But if Amiboshi's dead, it doesn't even matter._

The thought came to him, sickening and nasty and horrifying all at once. What would he do if Amiboshi _was_ dead, for real this time?

Panting, Suboshi drove the sword into the earth and sank to the ground. His arms and legs were riddled with cuts.

_If Amiboshi's dead, I'll kill the Suzaku no miko, _he thought_. _But the stupid girl would probably find some way to change the world around again, before it could happen. _I'll force her to fix it. Bring my brother back to life. And I'll kill Yurien. To hurt the Suzaku no miko, just like I hurt Tamahome before. _He'd murdered the girl once before, back when he'd murdered Tamahome's whole family – But the thought of the girl's huge brown eyes bothered him. _She's just trying to stay alive. Just like I was._

The anger was draining from Suboshi now. Valiantly, he tried to summon it up again, but he found only exhaustion. His fury had animated him throughout the day; he had harnessed it, had used it to move him halfway across Kutou. Without it, he felt almost lost.

Yurien was lying exactly where he had left her when Suboshi at last stumbled back into camp. She was a tiny bundle of blankets on her makeshift bed, curled up to take up the smallest amount of space possible. It was a heat-conserving measure, but she still looked woefully tiny, huddled up like that. She looked up as he approached her. In the darkness, her eyes were wide and round and brown, curious and unnervingly trusting. They caught the light of the fire and sent it back at him. Suddenly, Suboshi felt almost ashamed for his behavior. It was stupid to be cruel to someone who couldn't even defend herself properly.

The little girl was still looking at him. "Will you –" she began.

"I'll help you find your damned onee-san." _She'll be with Amiboshi, anyway, assuming he's alive. _Suboshi grabbed another stick and threw it on the fire and glared at Yurien. "Now for Seiryuu's sake, go to sleep."

For a long moment, she was silent, and Suboshi almost thought she was asleep. He stared into the night, almost on the verge of drifting off himself, until a small voice startled him from his reverie.

"Suboshi-sama?"

"_What?_"

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"That's none of your –"

Suboshi broke off, staring back across the fire. Over the sound of sparks crackling, he could just make out the sound of an evening bird singing merrily. If Suboshi twisted the sound, he could almost imagine the sound came – not from a bird's beak – but from the soft breeze of air through a flute, as fingers plied it deftly.

Yurien was still watching him, silent and unassuming.

Suboshi swallowed.

"Amiboshi," he said. "My twin is called Amiboshi."

-v-

Miaka was dreaming. It was one of those eerily real dreams, the kind in which Miaka hovered on the border between the book-world and her home, the kind where she was sometimes able to talk to Yui. She tried that now, looking everywhere for her friend. Really, there were only so many clouds behind which it was possible for Yui to hide.

But it was hard, terribly hard, to find Yui tonight. The clouds were darker than usual, tormented and pervasive and all-encompassing. Miaka called and called, and Yui answered faintly, but whenever Miaka seemed to be starting to get close, the sound would seem to switch direction. Miaka began to suspect that she was wandering in circles.

When they finally found each other, Yui was panting, and Miaka was not much better off. Miaka stared at her friend with some consternation. Yui really did not look well. Miaka guessed that she hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

"Yui," Miaka said cautiously. "What _happened_ to you?"

"Your brother on caffeine is what happened to me," Yui said, grimacing – but she was already hurrying on, before Miaka had time to comment. "Listen, Miaka, we don't have much time. I have to tell you something important, before the connection's disrupted. I've been trying and trying to contact you, but it seems like the worlds are in turmoil, and I think I don't have very long before we're not able to talk anymore. Miaka, you have to listen to me. Tenkou doesn't belong in this world. He's an invader who came from our world originally."

Yui spoke in a rushed, hurried way, as though she was trying to compact as much information as possible into a minimal span of time. Miaka had to blink a few times before the information sunk in. But when it did –

"That's why he knew so much about French food!" Miaka recalled her odd, first encounter with Tenkou. There had been a bathtub involved, but there had also been a table of food – and the fare – Miaka remembered now – had looked nothing like the meals she commonly found in the Shijintenchisho.

Yui shot her a mildly disbelieving look before continuing. "Taiitsukun is also from our world – Tenkou was a scientist – the pair of them arrived almost a hundred years ago our time, many more years ago in the time of the book. And what's more –" Yui seemed to hesitate a fraction of a second and then plunged onward. "Nakago is –"

"Miaka, wake up!"

The voice echoed all around them; Miaka felt the sound drawing her away. She heard the desperation in Yui's voice as her best friend screamed her name, but Yui's cries were conflicting with a stronger, more solid voice, a voice that she also recognized. Miaka resisted the call to wakefulness. She struggled to stay in the world of the dream.

_Go away,_ she thought. _I have to finish my conversation with Yui. Let me sleep. _But someone was shaking her insistently by the shoulder

"Get off me!" she said, opening her eyes and trying vainly to push away the person who wanted her awake so badly. She squeezed her eyes shut again, determination bringing lines to her forehead. "I have to get back to Yui. I need to hear what Yui has to say."

"Miaka, we need to go. It's morning."

She sat up blearily. The sky outside their tent was bleak and gray, as it had been for the past couple days. It was after dawn, but the darkness that surrounded them made Miaka think of an impending storm. Amiboshi was shaking her shoulder gently. It was he who had roused her.

"All right," she said dully.

She felt heavy, as though a great weight had been deposited on her back. The previous night's events hung over her like the dark clouds that suffused the sky outside. Miaka still had the clamshell clasped in her hands; she must have fallen asleep holding it. She slid it into her pocket, feeling strangely empty. Nakago was gone. He was not coming back.

Yui had been about to say something about Nakago, back on the cloud, before Miaka had been dragged back into their present unpleasant reality. What could it have been? If only Amiboshi hadn't woken her when he had!

They saddled the horses in silence. The mood in the camp was grim. Even Tasuki seemed unusually somber. From time to time he would make some sort of vague utterance about the previous night and then trail off. Perhaps the knowledge of his former enemy's sacrifice had affected him more than he cared to let on. Miaka, lost in her own thoughts, found herself too exhausted to care.

They traveled until noon. Forest gave way to rolling hills and dramatic ridges. Despite the clouds, which foreboded rain, the grass around them was parched and dry. The land was brown, with only the occasional shrub or withered tree to disrupt the monotony of their surroundings. There was not an animal in sight, no birds in the sky, and when Subaru tested the water in one of the small pools they passed, she pronounced it undrinkable.

There was little shelter. Their company kept to the edge of a windswept valley, which seemed to be the remains of a dried-up riverbed, judging by the multitude of water-worn pebbles and stones that seemed to keep lodging in the horses' hooves. It was hardly ideal, but it was easier for the horses than walking on the ridges that jutted toward the sky to the east and west. They took their lunch in the shadow of the eastern crag. Midway through their meal, Tasuki– claiming boredom – took one of the horses to scout ahead.

He was gone for so long that Miaka began to worry that he had become a demon's dinner, but when at last he returned, his eyes were bright. "I think I found the lake," he said. "It's jus' beyond that ridge, there." He pointed toward the distant western crag.

A half hour's walk away. It was so close, the end so suddenly in sight, that Miaka could hardly believe it. She wondered if Nakago had known how close they were to their goal when he had left last night. _Could_ he have known? If he had known, would he still have chosen to end it that way?

Even as this thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it. They still did not have the sword of Hong-Nan; Suboshi had that. And Suboshi could still be miles away, for all they knew. It was agonizing, really. They had come so far, but if Suboshi did not appear soon, their efforts would all be for nothing, worthless. Even now, Miaka could feel something approaching – perhaps multiple somethings. The feel of nastiness brushing at the edge of her senses brought her back, sharply and unwelcomely, to the present.

They had to get moving, had to set off while they still could. For Miaka was certain that their presence so close to the lake had already drawn Tenkou's attention. As if in response to this thought, the nasty feeling at the edge of her senses spiked sharply, causing Miaka to hiss with apprehension.

"We have to go!" she said tightly. How horrible it would be to die here, a mere half hour's ride from the lake where they were supposed to summon the gods.

The others seemed to agree with her statement; at least, they did not question it. They packed hurriedly and saddled the horses quicker than usual. Perhaps they, too, sensed the fast-approaching evil, the discordant harmony that grated on Miaka's senses.

The demons appeared when they were halfway to the western ridge. They approached from the north and the south and the east. Had there been more time, Miaka might have pondered _why _there were none on the western edge, the edge closest to the lake; now, in her rising panic, she did not question their direction of approach. They wore human skins, and there were so many of them that Miaka wondered how many villages the demons had had to plunder for hosts. Their eyes glinted red in the scant light that fell on the valley. Miaka started to count them, but stopped when she reached forty. It was no use.

"Come on!" said Nuriko. "We have to out-ride them!"

It would have been fine if the demons had all been on foot. But some of the demons had horses, too, and they seemed to be riding their mounts quite effectively. Nakago's departure and Kaen's arrival meant that Miaka's group had exactly six horses for six riders, but Kaen – who was not adept at riding – was sharing with Tasuki, who was – if not the world's best rider, at least somewhat more skilled on a horse than she. That meant that their horse was more burdened down than the four that Nuriko, Miaka, Amiboshi, and Subaru rode. It lagged behind alarmingly as they broke into a gallop. (The sixth horse, which was a sensible creature, had taken one look at the line of approaching demons and bolted for the western ridge; it was a little speck on the distant horizon, far ahead of them).

Amiboshi was the first to notice that Tasuki and Kaen were not keeping pace with the others. Miaka saw him slow his own animal and turned to face the oncoming horde of demons. She pulled in the reins on her own horse as well, noting that they were practically at the base of the ridge.

"What on earth are you doing?" she heard Nuriko shriek, even as she saw Subaru canter to a halt.

"We can't exactly leave them behind," said Amiboshi reasonably.

"For the love of all that is noble and pigheaded," Nuriko sighed, and she turned her horse around too.

Amiboshi lifted his flute. "I'd advise you to cover your ears," he said, and then he began to play.

It was a sweet melody at first, the kind that lulled you into complaisance, that bewitched you. Then a sad note crept into the tune and you found yourself full of heartwrenching longing, even as the sad note grew darker, more sinister. Miaka listened to it all, fascinated, until Nuriko swept over and elbowed her in the ribs. "Baka!" Nuriko bawled in her face, "Cover your ears before something bad happens!"

_Right,_ Miaka thought, and she pressed her palms to her ears.

The demons were facing the brunt of the music; somehow Amiboshi had seen to that. But Tasuki and Kaen were in the direction of the melody's path; they were not immune to it either. Miaka saw Tasuki staring, dazed and staring; Kaen had slow tears leaking out of her eyes. Fortunately, the horse seemed to be largely unaffected, and it was hurrying toward them at a decent canter. Miaka clenched her fists and willed it to go faster – but then she realized that if it went any faster, Tasuki, who was still blinking bemusedly, would probably fall off. "Idiot!" she shrieked in his direction, "Cover your ears!" But her suggestion was drowned out by the music, and for all the good it did, Miaka might as well have been yelling suggestions at the moon.

As abruptly as it had begun, the music stopped. At first, Miaka thought something had happened to Amiboshi. She started forward, concerned. Then Miaka saw his frustrated glare, and she realized what had happened. _Of course,_ she thought, heart sinking, _Seiryuu's power comes and goes for him, just like it did with Nakago. But of all the times for him to lose it!_

The musical hiatus meant that the demons were beginning to wake up. Fortunately, by this time, Tasuki and Kaen had almost caught up with their group at the foot of the ridge. They were waking up too, though Tasuki still looked dazed.

Miaka saw a faint aura of chi appear around Amiboshi again. He drew in another breath and raised the flute to his lips for a second time. Then he froze. Miaka saw his eyes widen, saw him launch himself out of the way. She turned –

And found herself abruptly slammed against the rock wall. For a moment chi was surrounding her in a violent attack, scorching her, suffocating her with its pressure. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the pressure eased. Miaka felt Genbu's stone at her throat grow hot. Miaka blinked once, twice – but she seemed to be all right. She shook her head to clear it and stood up.

Amiboshi and Nuriko were at her side, looking concerned. Miaka glanced down the incline. Tasuki and Kaen had finally caught up with them. "We need to go!" she said.

"Are you all right?" said Amiboshi. "That chi-blast just now –"

"I'm fine."

"How –"

"The necklace." She stared at the pendant around her neck. "I didn't have time to shield myself, but it protected me from the blast –"

It was still hot to the touch, but rapidly cooling. The green jade stones still glowed softly as she studied it. _I'll bet you've been protecting me against Tenkou's mental invasions each night, too. That's why last night Tenkou was able to get to me when you weren't around my neck. _She sent a mental thanks to Genbu as she prepared to head up the cliff, ducking as another chi-blast whizzed above them, slamming into the cliff over their heads.

Arrows were raining down on them, too. Miaka watched helplessly as Amiboshi stared in numb horror at the arrow that seemed to be sprouting from his hand. Another arrow almost struck Subaru as she galloped forward and grabbed Tasuki's bridle. "Up the ridge!" the old seishi shrieked. Miaka, shaking herself out of her momentary stunned stupor, saw that the demons, awake now, were bearing down on them fast. She shook Amiboshi's shoulder. "Come on!" she said. She tried not to think what would happen if they didn't make it up the ridge in time.

They clattered over rocks and pebbles. Halfway up the ridge, Miaka's horse slipped and fell, whinnying in panic, but Nuriko dismounted and managed to drag the Miaka out of harm's way before the horse broke her leg. They traveled on foot after that, the demons a safe but distance behind, but steadily following. Miaka noted dimly that the arrows seemed to have stopped, but she didn't have time to ponder why. She could feel evil at all sides, but especially up ahead of them, on the other side of the ridge. At any other time, she might have questioned the fact that they were fleeing straight toward the heart of the evil, but now, she welcomed it – it was the one sign that they were drawing closer to their goal –

And then they were over the ridge, gazing down at the shimmering lake below, in all its vastness. Miaka caught herself on a tree to keep from skidding down the steep incline. All around her, the others were doing the same. She gasped and choked on air.

She glanced back up the ridge. The demons had appeared at the apex and were staring over it. Miaka met the eyes of some of them – red and glinting – she drew in a breath, waiting for them to swarm over the top, to begin descending upon them. She doubted she had strength to run further, and besides, where would they hide? The lake was exposed; they would be easy targets of arrows and other devilry. They had spent all their time and energy trying to _get_ to the lake but they hadn't considered what they would do when they _got_ there. _Fantastic, Yuuki, what excellent planning. _If Nakago had lived, he might have been able to figure out something, but the arrogant bastard was probably laughing at them from his grave. All this way to end up a demon's dinner. Miaka steeled herself, straightening. Whatever happened, she wouldn't go down without a fight.

That was when she realized that the demons were _not _descending upon them. They were still poised at the top of the ridge, but they made no move to draw closer. It was as though they were held back by an invisible line, demarcated by the edge of the ridge that divided them. They showed no inclination to attack; instead, they appeared almost _interested_. Miaka watched them, frankly bewildered, until Tasuki touched her shoulder.

"You might want ta turn around," he said. There was something in his voice that brought fear into her heart, far more than the demons.

Slowly, Miaka turned.

A figure stood between them and the water. His hair was concealed beneath his hood; a cloth obscured the lower half of his face. But Miaka did not need to see his face to know him, did not need to wait for his hand to reach up and remove the cloth that masked his face to realize who this pale stranger must be.

"Suzaku no miko," said Nakago.

-v-

**Author's note:**

To quote Douglas Adams: "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

The good news is that this story will be finished. Eventually. I have everything planned out. I even have a draft of the final battle written. It just needs to be edited into decency.

The bad news is that school is starting. And I am not finished posting this story. I will continue to update over the next few… weeks? months? It will just be slower. But I've come way too far in this story to abandon it now. So everything will be written, in the end.

Anyway… thank you so much for all your feedback! Hopefully I answered your questions below. Leave a review, even if it's just "This chapter was crazier than my life right now!" or "Suboshi has some serious issues."

**Disclaimer: **Nothing you recognize belongs to me.

-v-

**Questions (from you):**

**1. Will Miaka see the past few weeks that she has spent with Nakago in the **_**shin**_** as well, such as the passionate kiss he gave her? Will the **_**shin**_** show Miaka that Nakago is still alive?**

Good question. Unfortunately, she closed the shell and fell asleep before seeing this far.

**2. I was wondering, though, if wishing to protect the new world would have an effect on Miaka's home world? Maybe not, but it seems like the Book being so tied to the real world as a result of Tenkou being its creator might change an aspect of real life.**

I see the two worlds (Earth, and the book world) as separate enough entities that Also, clarification point – Tenkou didn't really create the Book world. The Book world already existed when Tenkou discovered it. Tenkou just figured out how to manipulate the rules associated with that world (thereby turning the world into a world that could be controlled by writing into a book…)

**3. Is Nakago really dead or has that kudoku taken over?**

The latter.

**4. In the first chapters didn't you say 'Kaen just heard about the brothel when she heard about a girl who tried to escape a few days ago' Now, her brother took her there when she was little?**

Hahaha oops! Consistency fail… Good catch. It's been a long time since I wrote the first couple chapters (obviously, since the post date is over two years ago!) Kaen's life has certainly been MUCH easier than Soi's, but it hasn't been perfect – whose life ever is? Anyway, I will fix that. :)

**5. Kaen's words were surprising. I am dying to know what happened. For a second, I almost believed Nakago was dead, then I realized in the last chapter, Kaen had thrown his knife away to prevent just that. What's going on?**

Kaen was lying in the last chapter. She did throw Nakago's life away, and Nakago is still alive. Or rather, kudoku-Nakago is still alive.

**6. Promising to ensure that the new composite world stays safe seems to be a very emotional decision to me. It was a mistake to begin with; now, however late it is and however many people are involved, letting things remain in this new world would be tantamount to letting these people live in a dream. Is that really the right end I wonder? Or are you trying to throw us off track here?**

Hm, I'm not sure I agree that letting things remain in this new world would be tantamount to letting everyone live in a dream. Although the outcome is better than the other world, these people still have their problems, and after the trauma that Tenkou's demon invasion has inflicted on everybody, the world's going to take some time to heal.

-v-

**Questions (for you):**

1. Does Yurien seem too accepting of the deaths of her parents/her present situation, and/or too mature for her age?


	56. Smoke and mirrors

…

**LVI**

**Smoke and mirrors**

…

Eiyou was a mess of ash and dust and war. Chiriko could smell the fire on the air as he hurried up the stairs, toward the parapet of the innermost wall to deliver a message and package to Lord Sahitei.

He hadn't been on the castle walls since the battle started, almost five days ago. Now, Chiriko could not help but look around uncertainly at the devastation that surrounded him. Fires blazed in three locations, casting black smoke into the air. Coarse wooden structures – _siege towers_, Chiriko's mind supplied – riddled the city.

Chiriko's teachers had told him not to be afraid. Eiyou had been built to withstand a siege, they'd said. From the towers of the keep or the innermost wall you could see them, stretching out across the city – a series of seven walls, two belonging to the palace, five belonging to the city, laid out in concentric circles. Chiriko could close his eyes and recite the wall names now: _Inner, Outer, Armor, Mason, Temple, Market, _and _Harbor_. The palace wells could supply water indefinitely, and the store-rooms were well-stocked. And even if all seven walls were breached, a series of underground chambers, hidden beneath the keep, would make a safe haven for the old and inform, the women and children –

_Except for Prince Boushin._ The young prince hadn't been seen since the morning before the fighting started. Word was that Sahitei had sent his son on the last ship to leave Eiyou, so that Boushin would be carried to a different, safer city.

And that's what was troubling Chiriko. Because if Eiyou was as safe as they said, why had the Emperor chosen to send his son away? And why had his teachers looked so afraid, even as they reassured him? Why did Chiriko keep hearing whispers about how the Harbor and Market and Temple walls had already fallen, how the other city walls would likely not last the night? And why did they whisper, whisper, whisper about an invisible demon leader who no one had seen but who everyone agreed was bigger and crueler than all the others, who knew and saw everything that _you_ did, who would eat you with his eyes if you met his gaze directly?

Chiriko wasn't sure he believed the last rumor, but the first two were probably true. He might be just a boy, without the intelligence he had once possessed in the Shijintenchisho, but Chiriko wasn't stupid.

Chiriko ascended the last step and stood, blinking in the sudden rush of evening sunlight. Up here, he could hear the sounds of battle: shouting and screaming, clashing as metal met metal, the sound of wood groaning as siege towers swayed and battering rams met hard wood. The noise of battle overwhelmed him and terrified him and excited him all at once. He knew that battle was not like the stories said – it was gory and bloody and full of dead people – but that did not stop him from wanting to watch.

But he felt nervous and exposed, standing on the parapet alone, the wind ruffling his hair, carrying to him the stench of blood and smoke. As if someone was watching, scrutinizing him, lying in wait. A crow's shadow loomed over him; Chiriko ducked and shuddered and clutched the package for Lord Sahitei tighter, but the lurking bird seemed to realize that Chirko wasn't prey. The crow cawed and moved on, toward the wreckage of the city.

Chiriko straightened. He could see them all from here – Harbor and Market and Temple and the rest. Except the first three of the city's walls were all crumbly in spots, like they had been hammered down by giants. As he stood, Chiriko heard a creaking, groaning noise. A second later, a loud _Crash! _met his ears, the noise of a stone meeting its target. _Not giants, _Chiriko thought, staring beneath him._ Catapults. Really, really big catapults. _

He watched the slowly rising plume of smoke from something he thought might have been Market district, and then he cast his eyes out further, to the fields that lay beyond the city, where the demon army and its tents glistened like many thousand spiked insects in the sunlight.

"Chiriko?"

Chirko turned.

He hated the way Emperor Sahitei looked now, all grim and serious and tense and watchful. It was common knowledge that the Emperor had been forbidden by his generals from riding into battle with the vanguard. Instead, the Emperor had to watch from the upper walls, standing as a emblem of strength for his men as they died and bled in the city below.

"Your Highness." Chiriko folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and bowed, as he'd been taught. "I have a message and a package. A pigeon delivered it, and Suichi-sama asked me to bring it to you."

Chiriko handed the message over to Lord Sahitei. The nice foreign Emperor, Lord Kazuhiko – the one who had given his oath to Miaka without having to be tortured by Nakago – was also on the parapet, and he winked tiredly at Chiriko as Sahitei took the message and the package from his hands. Chichiri was also there, looking ragged and bloodstained and thoroughly exhausted. But of course Chichiri would be tired. In this world, Chichiri was only a monk. He could not assume another's guise, or exorcise demons, or transport people across long distances. Of all the seishi in residence, only Tokaki had powers that he could use.

Sahitei scanned the message, and his mouth folded into a very thin line. Then he untied the package.

Chiriko covered his mouth with his sleeve and backed up against the wall, but nothing could block out the awful smell. He heard Lord Sahitei curse – which was funny, because the Emperor _never _cursed – but a lot of things were funny now, like the fact that the things in the package looked an awful lot like bloody fingers. But that was just impossible, fingers were supposed to be attached to a person's hand and these fingers weren't attached to anything at all but there were things attached to the not-fingers that looked like fingernails and all the joints were in exactly the right places so maybe they _were_ –

"I guess we know what became of the men you sent to kill the demon leader," Lord Kazuhiko remarked dryly to Lord Sahitei. He sent a brief nod toward Chiriko. "Come closer, lad, dead men's fingers won't hurt you."

Chiriko stumbled forward, trying to look anywhere except at the bloody package laid out on the wall. _I carried that, _he thought, half-dazed, _I carried those things all the way up from the pigeon-house._

Chichiri moved forward quickly, covering the fingers up in cloth again. "Can I see the message that accompanied this… present?" he asked Lord Sahitei.

"It is exactly the same as all of the others." Nonetheless, Sahitei handed the message to Chichiri, who unrolled it. Chiriko knew he shouldn't read his lord's private mail, but he couldn't help leaning forward as Chichiri unrolled the message. Besides, the emperor was not even looking at his fellow seishi but instead staring out, toward the field where the demon army lay.

_Come meet me on an open battlefield, _it read. _If you are not afraid to face me, then come out of your walls and bring your seishi with you, and we'll decide this battle here and now. If not, I will send to you more than just fingers. _

Chiriko's stomach felt heavy, as though he had swallowed an anchor. But a part of him – the treacherous, guilty, untamed part which reveled in bedtime stories of heroes and valor – was excited by the note, too. _Bring your seishi with you. _

"No signature,"' Chichiri remarked, folding the message and handing it back to the Emperor.

"None of the others letters had signatures either." Chiriko saw Sahitei sigh, looking wearier than the boy had ever seen him. "I ought to send him some sort of reply," the Emperor said.

"You didn't reply to the other letters."

"The others didn't come with fingers of the men I sent to kill him."

"Tell him he needs to show himself," Chichiri said bluntly. "Say that you will not fight unless you can see his face first. It is not right for a king to agree to fight without knowing what he is fighting, no da."

"So says the man with the mask," Kazuhiko said, clapping Chichiri on the back.

Chiriko watched Chichiri, wondering if the other man would show signs of offense. But Chichiri just folded his hands together and bowed, very slightly. "We all have disguises, my lord," he said politely. "Some of us just wear them more openly than others."

"I will write and tell the demon lord the things you have suggested," said Sahitei, before Kazuhiko could reply. "Will you tell Master Suichi to send some parchment to me, and a carrier pigeon?"

Chiriko blinked, and then realized that Sahitei was addressing him. "Yes," he said.

Chichiri bowed to the emperor. "We'll go together. My lords."

Chiriko waited until they were halfway down the stairs to the safety of the grounds before he turned toward Chichiri. "What did you mean," he asked curiously. "Chichiri-sama, what did you mean when you said that we all have disguises?"

"We do, no da." Chichiri reached up, removed the white mask from his face. Chiriko forced himself not to look away from the hideous scar where Chichiri's eye had once been. "There are physical masks and then there are other masks, masks of a different nature. Kazuhiko hides behind a veil of false cheer to conceal his fear and disquiet about the battle and the lack of reinforcements arriving from Sairou. Sahitei's regal garb chafes him sorely, but more people will go to war for Sahitei the Emperor than for Sahitei the man. The demons have masks too, no da. They hide behind the faces of live men and women – and children, too."

"Have you seen any children? Among the demon horde, I mean?"

A shadow passed over Chichiri's face. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Let's not speak of that," he said at length.

Chiriko wasn't stupid. He knew that meant yes. But his mind was already moving on, jumping ahead to his next question. "Chichiri-sama," he said slowly, "If everyone has a mask, then what's _my_ disguise?"

Chichiri smiled. "That one is easy, no da," he said. "A very big stack of very large books."

He ducked into the pigeon-house. Chiriko followed him. He liked the pigeon-master, amiable old Master Suichi, who knew everything there was to know about any kind of bird you could think of and even had books on the art of pigeon husbandry.

They had given the message to Master Suichi and were halfway to the kitchens before Chichiri asked something else that had been weighing quite heavily on his mind since they left the Emperor's parapet. "Are we going to lose the war?"

"That depends very much on whether reinforcements from Lord Kazuhiko's army arrive in time. He has sent messages to his shoguns, but they are still far away. Sairou is not close to Konan, no da."

"What about Lord Sadao? He could write to his shoguns in Hokkan!"

"He vanished, last night, without trace." A look of faint bitterness crossed Chichiri's face for a moment. "A coward does not change his nature easily."

Chiriko digested this remark, biting his lip, deep in thought. He looked at Chichiri. "Sahitei isn't actually going to fight the demon lord, is he?"

"No. Not today."

"But if he did go to fight, we'd go out too, wouldn't we? Because we're seishi?"

Chiriko was glad when Chichiri said nothing. It was better than all the teachers and women in the keep, who lied to him to spare his feelings. _I'm not a scared little boy,_ he thought, _I'm a seishi of Suzaku._ Except he was scared, more than a little. But he was still glad that Chichiri at least treated him like an adult and would not lie to him. _Lord Kazuhiko, too. And old Tokaki – well, he treats me the same way he treats everyone else who's under eighty, because everyone is young to him. _

He knew he was asking too many questions, but he asked the next one anyway. It was something that had been troubling him, ever since he'd heard the rumors floating about the palace. "Who is the person who sent Sahitei the message? The leader of the demon army? Have you seen him?"

Chiriko had heard rumors, of course, but most of them were rumors he didn't care to repeat to the monk. _An invisible bloodthirsty monster, big as a mountaintop. _Nuriko would have laughed at some of the things the palace women had said. She would have said it was stuff and nonsense, crazy superstition that old women used to frighten little boys so they wouldn't head into battle before they were old enough to wield a sword. But Nuriko was not here. _Nuriko treated me like an adult too, when she wasn't stuffing my face full of tea-cakes. _He hoped she was all right. She and Miaka.

"I have not seen the demon leader," Chichiri replied, at some length. "Or if I have, I did not know it. The demon leader is a demon, Chiriko. Do you know what that means?"

Chiriko hesitated. He liked Chichiri, but he respected him, too, and he didn't want Chichiri to think he was foolish. "I – I think so. Demons possess people –"

"Yes," said Chichiri. "So it's very hard to tell who is leading the demons, because even if the leader has a physical face, that face can change as soon as the demon changes the body he possesses – it's like a maze of smoke and mirrors and indirections – a leader who cannot be killed –"

He broke off, as though suddenly realizing who he was talking to.

"I understand," said Chiriko. "So you can't ever know who or where the demon leader is, because the demon leader can jump from body to body – just like –"

He felt very cold suddenly.

"Yes," Chichiri said quickly, "but thanks to Shouka, we can stop the demons from using any bodies of ours."

"I know," said Chiriko. "Mitsukake-sama told me. He said you almost lost the war on the first day."

When the demons lost their physical bodies, they would possess the first live person they found. The more men Sahitei's soldiers had cut down, the more soldiers found themselves possessed, and the greater the chaos. A party of Lord Sahitei's men under demon control had almost managed to infiltrate the keep before they were discovered and stopped.

"And then Shouka found a way to exorcise the demons, with a flower."

"She was trying to exorcise demons from the patients in her care, no da. That's how she discovered _lanxing. _It's said to cure disease and banish shadows, but it seems to be able to protect against demons as well. If you drink a tea steeped with these flowers before battle, the demons cannot touch you." Chichiri paused. "You have just reminded me – I need to bring more tea up, to the soldiers on Armor's wall. It will only take a little while."

"I'll come," said Chiriko.

He wished he hadn't agreed the moment he entered the sick bay. The stench of death hit him as he entered, and he had to cover his nose with his sleeve again. He was glad Chichiri had brought them there before eating – he doubted he could have kept in the contents of his stomach if they had come afterwards –

"Follow me, no da."

The floor was so packed with pallets of the injured and dying that Chiriko was forced to do a little dance to avoid them. Ahead of him, Chichiri was also in difficulty; Chiriko saw him wince as his weight landed on his bad leg.

"Mitsukake."

Mitsukake looked up wearily. His face brightened a little when he laid eyes on his visitors.

"Chichiri. Chiriko. It's good to see you."

The battle had aged Mitsukake ten years. Chiriko thought the healer looked as if he hadn't slept. But he must have slept at some point – if you didn't sleep you would start to see odd things and people would say you had dream terrors and force you to go to bed. Chichiri knew this – it had happened to him once, when he'd stayed up for three straight days in order to finish a particularly interesting book –

He realized Chichiri was speaking. Chichiri was asking Mitsukake for _lanxing _for the Eastern wall of Armor's District. "And," Chichiri added quickly, "I can help if there's anything you need me to do here, no da."

Chiriko hoped, uncharitably and fervently, that Chichiri was not going to expect him to help out as well. Even being in this room was making his stomach roil. He turned to Chichiri to look at him pleadingly. But before he could say anything, Chiriko heard a hacking cough from a pallet behind Mitsukake. and then a voice, irascible and surly and familiar, snapped, "You bloody well _can_ help."

"Tokaki." Chichiri sounded as surprised as Chiriko felt. "My apologies – I did not see you there."

"Course you didn't," Tokaki grumbled, coughing. "They always say one-eyed folks see near as well as the ones with two eyes, but how can that be? You can't see what's in front of half your face. Yes, you can help. Help me convince this _idiot_ –" He waved at Mitsukake "–that I'm in perfect – _hack_ – health and don't need to be forced into bedrest."

Chiriko didn't think Tokaki looked in perfect health. The old seishi's forehead was bandaged, and his left arm was in a sling, and there was a red stain around his right hip. But the glare he shot the others, from beneath thick eyebrows encrusted with dirt or possibly blood, was as fierce and frightening as ever.

"You had a slice taken off your left shoulder," Mitsukake said, "and another cut on your face, and an arrowhead buried in your hip – lie_ down._"

Tokaki subsided onto the bed, wheezing. "Not as – _hack –_ young as I used to be. Time was, that little demon bugger would never have taken a slice off my shoulder. Slower. That's what I am. Slow in my old age. _Hack hack hack. _Stupid ash. Makes the lungs all rowdy. Are the demons trying to burn the whole bloody town to the ground?"

"It seems that way." Now that Tokaki was no longer flailing to get off the bed, Chichiri seemed to decide it was safe to draw nearer. "They've breached the Mason's District wall, on the western side, no da."

"I know, dammit! I was _defending_ that bloody wall when that bastard's blade – _hack – hack – hack – hack –"_

"Perhaps you should not try to talk. No da."

Tokaki didn't seem to care. "It was just two dozen possessed men with grappling hooks that did it," he wheezed. "Got over the top of the wall, cutting up everyone they touched. Somehow they managed to open the gate. Got through our defenses. Gave me this cut on the shoulder."

"Who was leading them?" Chiriko asked curiously.

"Couldn't tell you that."

_I guess Chichiri was right, _Chiriko thought, as he headed out of the sick bay, toward the dining hall with Chichiri. _Nobody actually knows who the demon leader is. _The thought made him squirm. _It could be anyone. Anyone at all –_

He knew one person he very much hoped it wouldn't be.

Chiriko dreamed, that night, of demons and monsters, of hard creatures with long claws like pikes and cold, cold breath that rattled in their chests. He dreamed that he was awake, and he was looking in the mirror and a demon's face was looking back at him, and he was shaking something in his hands, an ugly golden rattle that seemed to fill the air with poison.

When Chiriko woke up, he was in a cold sweat and it was only dawn but Chichiri was shaking him and saying he was needed on the wall.

He followed Chichiri out of the keep, up the stone steps of the inner-most parapet. The dawn air was chill on Chiriko's face, and his eyes smarted with the cold. Light was just beginning to creep across the palace grounds. _Five days, _Chiriko thought suddenly. _Eiyou's been fighting for five days now. _It seemed like a century.

Sahitei and Tokaki and Mitsukake were all waiting, when Chiriko and Chichiri arrived at the parapet. Mitsukake frowned when Chiriko's head came into view. "He's too young to be a part of this," the healer objected.

"Don't be absurd." Tokaki's eyebrows bristled. "He's a seishi, just like the rest of us. He deserves to at least have a say in what's going on."

That would have earned Tokaki another point on Chiriko's People-Who-Actually-Treat-Me-Like-An-Adult scorecard, if Chiriko hadn't been so worried about the grim looks that the other seishi were shooting him. "What – what _is_ going on?" he stammered.

The other four exchanged looks. _You tell him, No you,_ sorts of looks.

Chiriko's lower lip jutted out. Adults could be such _babies_ sometimes. "There's been another letter, hasn't there?"

"How did you know?" said Sahitei quickly.

It had actually been a lucky guess, but Chiriko wasn't going to admit that. "I just knew." Mentally he deducted a few points from Sahitei for sounding so surprised when Chiriko had guessed right. This was something of a shame. Chiriko _liked_ Sahitei.

Chiriko took the message. The note itself was short, but the paper was too small to have been rolled up and carried on a pigeon's foot. A falcon perhaps, or a hawk? Could they even train raptors to deliver messages.

He looked down at the words spread out before him.

_I've shown my face to you many a time, _the message read,_ but you've all been too blind to see it. You and your four seishi must come and fight me on the field, at the ninth hour. This is your last chance, Lord Sahitei. Do not make me send you your precious son's fingers to you in a box._

"Oh," said Chiriko, "that's not good." And he handed the message-scroll back to Sahitei.

_You and your four seishi, _he thought. _That means I'm going too. _He tried to work out how he felt about this. _I died once, _he thought. _It wasn't so bad that time. Nuriko was there, on the other side. _But Nuriko was still alive this time round. Tamahome was dead, though. He didn't know Tamahome as well as he knew Tasuki or Nuriko or Chichiri. _But I know he's a good person. _ Miaka wouldn't have married him if he hadn't been nice.

"How do you know they actually do have Prince Boushin?" Chiriko asked. His voice sounded high and thin in the cool morning air. _It's the smoke, _he thought.

Sahitei placed something in his hands. In the dim light, with his bad eye, Chichiri thought at first that he had been handed a ball of fur or velvet cloth, because the object was so soft. Then he held it up to the light and realized that it wasn't cloth at all.

It had been slashed diagonally, from the place where the left arm joined its body, as though someone, in a fit of rage, had taken a rapier to it. White stuffing poked out in odd places, but the face was unharmed, and the familiar red ribbon still circled its neck jauntily. Chiriko stared at the bear, and the bear's smiling face looked back at him, and for a moment he itched to take hold of the bear's painted mouth and pull down, to twist and twist and twist and erase the bright, cheerful smile that stretched across the stuffed creature's face, because _nothing _about the arrival of Prince Boushin's bear, sent by enemy troops, could possibly be happy.

-v-

They rode out together that morning, Sahitei, Mitsukake, Tokaki and Chichiri, with Chiriko in the middle. It was like the old stories, Chiriko thought, valiant warriors setting off to meet deadly foes. Five seishi taking on a whole demon army.

Around their necks they wore wreathes, the last _lanxing_ flowers that Shouka could spare, to give them protection on their journey. They held their heads up proudly, and as they wove through the tattered remains of the city of Eiyou, nobody challenged them. Even demons stood aside to let them pass.

Only one person shouted out his opposition to their departure from the palace. "I don't want your city," Kazuhiko said, when Sahitei told him the city was to be left in his hands, should he fall. "You're making a mistake," Kazuhiko said bluntly, "and you're going to die for it."

"Then I'll die again," Sahitei said, with a kind of steely calm. "Guard the city."

And Kazuhiko had not argued with him.

Sahitei rode in front, clad in royal regalia. He had spoken a long time to them before they rode out, until Chiriko was near to bursting with impatience. _The letter-writer made one mistake,_ Sahitei had said, as they stood upon the parapet. _He wrote the words 'You and your seishi' into his letter. But you're not __**my**__ seishi, to command as I please. You're Miaka's seishi, just as I am._

Furthermore, Sahitei continued, he was not embarking on this mad venture in order to save Miaka or the kingdom. In fact, he doubted whether taking on the demon lord by themselves would be in the best interests of the kingdom at all. He was doing it for purely selfish reasons. Chiriko didn't understand _that_ at all, because it seemed an unselfish thing, riding out into battle to save a baby boy. Tokaki pulled him aside and tried to explain, but in the end just ended up muttering, _"It's different when it's your own son, lad. You'll understand when you're older."_

(He'd had to subtract points from Tokaki for that comment).

What this meant (Chichiri explained) was that Sahitei was asking them all to ride into battle as his friends. Which still didn't make sense to Chiriko. You wouldn't ride into battle for your _enemies_ would you?

Well, Miaka might.

But everyone knew that Miaka was Different.

Tokaki had shut the Emperor up, thankfully, before Chiriko's head was completely tied in knots. _We know, we've heard, any dissenters can run if they want, now let's move. He said nine o'clock, and we've got to get saddled and armored, and it's going to take time to find stuff for the lad. _

Chiriko quite liked his new armor, which had been Sahitei's when he was a boy. He had a small sword, which was terribly shiny, and a light shield that gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.

They rode out, through the three walls that encircled the palace, and then farther, through Armor's District and Mason's, past the crushed walls that were once Temple and Market and Harbor. Chiriko stared at the wreckage around him, excitement and fear making it difficult to breathe. Men left off fighting to watch them, until the only sound that trailed in their wake was calm silence.

"It was almost worth it for this," Tokaki joked, with a wink at Chiriko. "D'you know that cursed shouting was turning me into a deaf man –"

But he grew quiet as they rode out further, across the fields that bordered Eiyou, out out out, to where the grass had once grown lush and green but was now only ash beneath their horse's hooves. They made for the grounds on which the tents were pitched, dark banners flying in the sea-breeze.

When they were in the middle of the field, Sahitei held up a hand, and the others stopped. A party of men – _demons, _Chiriko reminded himself – was riding out to meet them. The front-most man was clad in black, and he was taller than the others, and his warhorse kicked up a cloud of dirt and ash when it stopped before them.

"Are you the leader of the demon army?" said Sahitei.

"No," the other said insolently. "I am only his messenger."

"Then tell your master, that I am here," said Sahitei, Emperor of Konan, Lord of the South. "The lord of your army has demanded a fight, and my seishi and I are answering his challenge. I am here to fight him. I am here for my son."

"My lord commander is just behind me, and has heard every word that you said. He is ready to fight you."

Chiriko looked up. The messenger had dismounted from his horse and was helping a small form down as well, clad all in armor. Pale sunlight fell on the small figure, and Chiriko heard Sahitei gasp.

"_He_ will fight you," said the messenger. "Say hello to your _son, _Emperor Sahitei of Konan."

Boushin was clad in armor, all over his hands and arms, everything save for his face, and in his hands the prince held a sword. It looked a farce in his small hands.

Chiriko heard the Emperor whisper his son's name. The next second Sahitei started forward. Chiriko saw Chichiri grab his arm. Tokaki brought his sword up to catch the the swing of the sword that was ludicrously big for the toddler's small arms.

Chiriko stared at the toddler in front of him, holding a sword that was too big for his ludicrously tiny hands. Boushin's eyes met his, and suddenly Chiriko _knew. _ It had been lingering over him, for some time, this knowledge of who the demon leader must be. A spirit that wished vengeance for a previous wrong, a malevolent spirit strong enough to hold an army of fractious demons together_. Chichiri tiptoed around it, he didn't want to tell me his suspicions, but he knew he knew he __**knew**__ – _

Boushin was only a mask, just like all the other humans that demons possessed were masks, just like that time in the Shijintenchisho when Chiriko had been a mask, when he'd been forced to do terrible things to all the friends he cared about. The opponent they faced was not Boushin, or the men and women and children that Chichiri and Kazuhiko and the others had fought in the districts surrounding the palace. It was not an invisible bloodthirsty monster with grasping clawed fingers, big as a mountaintop and strong as a tiger.

It was something far worse.

"Hello Chiriko," Miboshi said sweetly with Boushin's small mouth, and he brought the blade down across Chiriko's neck.

-v-

**Author's note:** We'll get back to the others next chapter – I swear! Don't kill me!

This chapter was inspired by Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings and various other Epic Stories in which heroes ride out into the battlefield to their Impending Doom.

So, finally we see what became of Miboshi. (I bet you were all just dying to know, huh?) Miboshi is the one character from the original series (by which I mean the first 13 manga) who has been sadly ignored up until this point in the fic (mostly because he was the one Seiryuu seishi I just COULDN'T find a way to make even the tiniest bit sympathetic) so um, I guess I kind of stuck him into this darling little battle scene here to show that I haven't forgotten his existence. Yep. And, um. While we're on the subject of Miboshi, would anyone be so kind as to tell me why Seiryuu chose an evil body-lacking child-possessing sorcerer as his seishi in the first place? WTF was up with that?

Thanks so much to _Helena, TheStrangerAlice, Azelf1717, Night Kunoichi, _and _tohru78_ for your feedback for the last chapter! Hopefully I've replied to your questions below. I love getting reviews, so drop me a line, even if it's just "Where is my precious Nakago?" or else "This chapter was more depressing than McCarthy's _The Road_" (Although sincerely I hope not, as the movie adaptation left me feeling **seriously** disturbed).

-v-

**Questions (from you):  
**

**1. Yurien is Tamahome's blood sister and Miaka's sister-in-law, not their niece…**

Oops. My bad. That was a typo. I actually knew this, I swear… I think my mind just internalized Yurien's and Tamahome's age difference in a weird way when I was writing the chapter. It's been fixed to say sister/sister-in-law now.

**2. Your story has such a slow pace that I decided to hold off on reading until it got close to the end…**

Yeahhhh I don't blame you. Hahaha. I'm not quite sure why it became so drawn out, to be honest… I never intended for it to be this long. Oh well. Welcome back!

**3. I wonder how Miaka will break Nakago free of the kudoku.**

So do I.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Despite the fact that you probably knew all along who Chiriko was going to encounter at the end of this chapter (because I dropped a lot of freaked-out-Chiriko hints), is there enough in-chapter suspense? Or does the chapter just come across as kind of stupid and unsuspenseful? Or were you just confused?

2. I had fun writing from a smart kid's perspective. Did it work for you guys, or did it feel too much like an adult (this is debatable, as people often say I have the mind of a four-year-old but whatever) was narrating the chapter?

3. Did anyone get really confused reading the Chichiri - Chiriko conversations? (I did. Why are their names so damn similar?)


	57. Captured

**...**

**LVII**

**Capture**

**...**

Tetsuya's alarm clock was singing.

Tetsuya groaned, sat up, and opened a bleary eye to glance at the time.

It was only six AM. Far too early for any reasonable person to be awake, really – and yet, other people obviously _were_ awake, judging by the faint sounds of traffic Tetsuya could hear outside his window. He had napped for three hours, but he might not have slept at all judging by how awful he felt. Tetsuya closed his eyes again and reached once more for the alarm, fumbling around for the snooze button –

"Why," said Keisuke, from his seat in Tetsuya's best armchair, his dark eyes affixed to The Book, "is your alarm clock playing the theme music of Final Fantasy?"

There ought to be a rule, Tetsuya reflected bitterly, that prevented best friends from ribbing each other over music preferences at ungodly hours of the morning. It wasn't as though he was letting Keisuke crash at his apartment out of the goodness of his heart or anything.

_Never mind. _Tetsuya adjusted his face upon the pillow and sighed. _Ten more minutes…_

He was almost asleep again when a voice invaded his consciousness like a dozen bulldozers trundling into a wildlife preserve:

"Do you have any cereal other than Cheerios?"

Tetsuya opened one eye. "No," he said.

"Oh. All right."

Tetsuya closed his eyes again.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch…_

Tetsuya's eyes squeezed shut. He felt around for a sofa cushion and flattened it against the ear that wasn't pressed to the sofa –

"Say. Dig pthu mnow th' Tnku –"

Keisuke's mouth sounded like it was full of socks. _No, not socks. Cheerios. The Cheerios that were supposed to be _**my**_ breakfast. _Tetsuya opened both eyes again. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.

Keisuke managed to swallow. "Did you know that Tenkou married Taiitsukun? And that the four gods are actually his kids?"

Tetsuya's brow creased. His eyes opened, slowly.

"Huh?" he said again.

"The Book told me. We've been talking about various things." Keisuke sounded far too _awake _for this time of morning. He was currently scowling. "It's mostly unhelpful, but occasionally you can bully it into saying something useful if you try hard enough."

The alarm clock was signing again. Tetsuya shut it off. He got up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and trundled over to stare over Keisuke's left shoulder at the book that lay innocently in his best friend's lap.

HELLO, SLEEPING BEAUTY.

"What… else have you two been talking about?" said Tetusya, ignoring The Book as he tried to come to terms with the possibility that Tenkou and Taiitsukun had not only been married, but had also been intimate enough to successfully produce offspring -

**_Eurgh._**

"Oh, you know," Keisuke said blithely, "I told it I was going to bring Miaka back and it threatened me with horrendous, dire consequences of one sort or another –"

Black words appeared quickly and furiously in Tetsuya's line of sight.

FOR GOOD REASON. DO YOU REALIZE WHAT EFFECT BRINGING MIAKA BACK RIGHT NOW WOULD HAVE, NOT JUST ON THIS WORLD, BUT ON YOUR OWN DEARLY BELOVED PLANET EARTH? LET ME MAKE IT CLEAR TO YOU. IF MIAKA DOESN'T DEFEAT TENKOU, THEN YOU LOT ARE ROYALLY SCREWED. YOU **DO** UNDERSTAND THAT TENKOU ALREADY DISCOVERED A WAY TO CONTROL ONE WORLD, AND HE COULD JUST AS EASILY BUILD A BOOK TO CONTROL **THIS WORLD**, ONCE HE'S FREE?

"– so I didn't use The Book to bring Miaka back in the end," Keisuke went on, ignoring The Book. "But I did manage to fix the stupid time difference between the worlds. It's been bothering me for ages, the fact that we never really know how long it's been, and a year can occur in the space of a sentence. You'd think that whoever was responsible for creating the world in The Book would have had more sense."

"Sorry," said Tetsuya. "Would you mind repeating what it was that you –"

"I wrote a rule that would fix the time difference between our worlds while you were asleep. The Book was fine with it," said Keisuke, shrugging. "I mean, that's what it was _made _for."

Tetsuya looked down at The Book.

DON'T LOOK AT **ME**, it said crossly. ALL I SAID TO HIM WAS, 'IF YOU'RE SO KEEN ON DISRUPTIVE RULE-MAKING, YOU MIGHT AS WELL JUST GO AHEAD AND CHANGE TIME WHILE YOU'RE AT IT.' NOT MY FAULT YOUR FRIEND COMPREHENDS SARCASM ABOUT AS WELL AS A BANANA.

Tetsuya grabbed The Book out of Keisuke's hands and stared at words that were appearing in Miaka's storyline. The words _did_ seem to be turning up slower than before – as though time in the Book-world was slowing –

He put The Book down and stole a glance at Keisuke, frowning. Tetsuya didn't like this, didn't like this at all; it sent an entirely ominous feeling through him, though he couldn't have said why –

"Next time," he told Keisuke sharply, "let's talk a bit before you write a rule in The Book, all right? Perhaps you might consider that The Book was designed by a high-functioning sociopath who is currently the ruler of a demon horde and lord of an underworld –"

THAT'S HARDLY FAIR, The Book whined. TENKOU CREATED ME, BUT HE DOESN'T CONTROL ME. I'M AN AUTONOMOUS BEING.

Tetsuya frowned at The Book.

"What's your stake in all this, anyway?" he asked.

IT'S IN MY BEST INTEREST TO PROTECT THE WORLD IN MY PAGES. IF IT GOES KABOOM, THEN I'M OUT OF A JOB, AND MY LIFE BECOMES MUCH LESS INTERESTING. SO I TRY TO STOP PEOPLE FROM WRITING DESTRUCTIVE RULES THAT WASTE POWER FOR NO PURPOSE. THAT POWER HAS TO COME FROM SOMEWHERE, YOU KNOW.

That gave Tetsuya a moment's pause. "Where _does_ that power come from?"

THE WORLD. MY WORLD. THE UNIVERSE OF THE FOUR GODS. If it had had a nose, Tetsuya was certain that the Book would have sniffed. HONESTLY. WHERE DID YOU THINK IT CAME FROM? THE MOON?

-v-

A sea breeze swept over the ridge, setting loose a flurry of leaves from the oaks that lined the cliffs above Eiyou. Gulls launched themselves from the rocks, screaming as they danced over the water.

The noise sounded like a triumphant fanfare to Lord Sadao of Hokkan as he hurried along the trail, trying to put as much distance between himself and Eiyou before nightfall. He allowed himself to revel in the sound, but didn't stop, not even to fill his canteen in the small stream he encountered as he neared the top of the rise.

Certainly, he thought, wiping sweat from his brow, a man in his position deserved some measure of congratulations. He had finally done it – finally escaped the hellhole that was Eiyou at war. It had not been any easy task. Lord Kazuhiko had placed him under arrest when Sadao had made his intentions of deserting known, and it had taken all his skill to bribe one of Hotohori's brash soldiers into letting Sadao out of sight long enough to engineer an escape.

But he had done it; and he had no regrets; this was not _his_ war, and Sadao had no intention of dying in it. Let the demon-creatures and Lord Hotohori kill each other off, for all he cared. Hokkan would steer clear of this drama. _He_ would follow the road up to the port town of Kitaku, where he would locate a ship that would take him to Hokkan, far away from all this sorcery and trickery and madness, and there was absolutely nothing that could possibly stand in his –

_What in the seven hells was that? _

Sadao hunched to the ground until the earth beneath his feet had ceased shaking. The earthquake – or whatever it was – subsided quickly, so quickly that Sadao wondered if it had been a byproduct of his overactive imagination.

Sadao got to his feet.

The earth shook again, this time far more forcibly than before. This time, there was an ominous rumble beneath his feet. Sadao waited. The rumbling noise grew louder. It sounded like a hundred hungry stomachs grumbling for food.

_Huh,_ he thought, _ I wonder what –_

That was as far as he got before the entire cliff face slid quietly and unobtrusively into the sea.

-v-

The Cheerios were finished. The abandoned box lay in the corner where Keisuke had stuffed it surreptitiously – along with half a dozen boxes of coffee, a large bottle of some horrible sugary, caffeinated beverage that had been sitting in Tetsuya's fridge for three months before Keisuke found it, and an empty box that had once contained pocky.

Tetsuya didn't notice Keisuke's hurried attempts to conceal the raid on his kitchen. His attention was focused solely on The Book.

"Maybe you can clarify this for me," he was saying. "Because there's something I still don't understand. You say that all of your power comes from the world – _your _world. And you also just told me that if a person writes too many rules, there won't be enough power, and that really bad things will happen –"

THAT'S A BIT OF AN UNDERSTATEMENT. WE'RE TALKING ABOUT JUST ABOUT EVERY NATURAL DISASTER THAT YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE, HERE. LANDSLIDES. EARTHQUAKES. TORNADOS. HURRICANES. FLOODS. A PLAGUE OF GIANT GRASSHOPPERS. AND IF YOU KEPT ON WRITING RULES AFTER **THAT**, THE WORLD WOULD PROBABLY TURN INTO A BALL OF SNOW AND ICE AND CEASE TO BE HABITABLE.

"There's no need to sound so gleeful about it."

WOULD YOU RATHER I SOUNDED DEPRESSED? I PREFER TO KEEP A POSITIVE ATTITUDE ABOUT THESE THINGS. THEY SAY THAT KEEPING CHEERFUL IS THE KEY TO A LONG, HEALTHY LIFESPAN –

"That would make a lot more sense," Tetsuya cut in, "if you weren't an inanimate object. But I still haven't asked you my question. Which is this: why was Tenkou able to make all the rules that he did? Why didn't that have a negative impact on your world?"

IT DID, the Book said crossly. BUT THAT WAS MANY YEARS AGO, AND HE STOPPED SHORT OF CAUSING TOO MUCH DAMAGE.

"So –" said Tetsuya.

Tetsuya's cell phone was ringing. He picked it up and pressed it to his ear.

"What's going on over there?" Yui's voice huffed over the line. "I've tried to call Keisuke five times already!" And before Tetsuya could say anything: "Did you know that viruses replicate by commandeering their host's cellular machinery, making lots of baby viruses, and then forcing their host cell to split open?"

"… No."

"Neither did I, and I think Miaka's in serious trouble, and what's more I'm never going to be able to get the flu again without thinking of the 1918 pandemic and wondering whether I'm going to die. I hate biology."

"_You're doing homework_?"

"Well, what did you expect me to do? You lot weren't picking up. Is Miaka okay?"

"Um –" said Tetsuya, who actually had no idea.

NO, The Book sniped. SHE'S ACTUALLY IN SERIOUS TROUBLE. WHICH YOU WOULD KNOW IF YOU HAD ACTUALLY BEEN READING ME INSTEAD OF ENGAGING IN PLEASANT CONVERSATIONS ABOUT EARTHQUAKES AND THE END OF THE WORLD.

Beside him, Keisuke let out a strangled cry and lost his grip on his cereal bowl.

"I'll call you back," Tetsuya said, and hung up.

-v-

Nakago stood on the shore of the barren lake, the _kokoro _on his forehead a radiant blue. He was staring at her with unnerving intensity; his eyes seemed to track her every movement. Miaka felt her heart leap.

Without thinking, she started forward. She was not entirely thinking about what she was going to do when she reached him – but did it matter? Nakago was alive. Nakago, who she had believed to be dead, had somehow, miraculously, survived –

"Miaka, NO!" She felt Nuriko grab her arm and yank her back. "He's not the Nakago you know. His mind's been poisoned by _kudoku_."

Miaka bit her lip. She glanced, once again, into the eyes of the man in the clearing and swallowed. Nuriko was right. The man who faced her now was not really Nakago. He was not Ayuru either. This creature was a monster – a soulless, heartless being whose only loyalty was Tenkou.

But Nakago and Ayuru were both in there too, somewhere deep down. They shared this monster's body. Miaka had to believe that. Tamahome had recovered from kudoku. His real self, buried beneath the kudoku, had surfaced again, long after everyone believed it was gone. _Brought back to life by a kiss!_

So Nakago's real self might also be buried beneath this kudoku-monster of Tenkou's. But Miaka did not for a moment believe she could bring Nakago back with a kiss. She would have to bring him back some other way. _But how?_ Her kiss had brought Tamahome back because he had loved her; Nakago did not love her. Did he love anyone?

_Taria_, she thought. _Ayuru loved Taria._ But Taria was dead, had died almost ten years ago. And then there was Soi – but Soi was now Kaen, and Kaen would never agree to kiss Nakago.

Nuriko's hand was still on her shoulder, restraining her. Miaka shook it away gently. There was no danger of her sprinting toward Nakago like a blind fool now. She tried to think of a way out of this mess, and she came up with nothing. Her mind was a frightening void. She sensed she would only have one chance, one opportunity to set things right. But she was fresh out of ideas, and the clock was winding down.

"What's wrong?" Nakago said, with that horrible, feigned concern that made Miaka want to wince and flinch away. "After all that we've suffered through together, do you not trust me?"

"_We_ haven't been through anything at all," Miaka said, struggling against her panic, "because you're not actually Nakago."

The world was turning a bitter shade of blue. At first, Miaka did not comprehend what was happening. She heard a yell, and the next second she felt an indescribable tug on her body that caused her to stumble forward. She tried to stop it, the inexorable force that was pulling her toward him, but it was no good. She fell dramatically, with a giddy rush of vertigo, tumbling down the remainder of the incline and scraping her knees against the hard rocks on the lake shore. For a moment, she supported herself on her hands and knees, gasping.

In the distance, her seishi were shouting. Miaka couldn't make out their words. She blinked and tried to clear her head, scrambling to her feet as familiar boots approached felt pain in her scalp as Nakago yanked her head back. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Why are you here?" she asked him. "What do you want?"

"Is it not obvious?"

Nakago's breath tickled her cheek. He was so close to her ear that his breath sent shivers down her spine. Miaka flinched backward, every muscle tightening in a brief surge of uncontrolled terror.

"I need you alive," he said. Miaka heard him chuckle. The sound was so close, so intimate, that Miaka felt it reverberate through her collarbone. He was behind her, but Miaka could imagine the cruel smile that played about his lips. "Tenkou requires that I deliver you to him." His arms pinned her to him, making her struggles seem fruitless and pitiful. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest pressed flush against her back.

"Dear, dear," he murmured. "Such a poor greeting, Priestess of Suzaku. Is that any way to greet the man who's saved your life – twice, now?"

Without warning, he kissed her.

It was a cruel and brutal kiss, a display of dominance more than anything. She felt herself crushed against him, felt his lips drag across her own. Miaka struggled blindly, feeling her mind go blank with unadulterated terror. It was just like Hokkan, down to the very last detail.

That wasn't right. A part of Miaka's mind rebelled against her surge of terror. Why was the memory of Hokkan enough to turn her into a shuddering, terrified puddle of fear? _Nakago didn't even hurt me back then,_ she thought scathingly. _Does the past control me? Or do I control myself?_

She forced herself to go limp, a necessary act – even as she called up her chi again and sent it towards him, as she'd done in her examination of him the night before –

She was expecting the same resistance she'd felt last night. She expected to feel Tenkou's power, overwhelming and cruel against her magical senses. But instead of the sickening wall of dark magic she'd encountered last night, it was only Nakago's power that Miaka saw now. Thinking she had made a mistake, Miaka searched and searched, trying to find the kudoku – to make sense of what she was seeing. She probed deeper, pushing, prying. But she saw no sign of kudoku – it appeared to have vanished –

She felt the change in Nakago's demeanor a second before she was forcibly slammed from his mind. Miaka's eyes snapped open. She felt dazed, bewildered, and slightly sick to her stomach.

What had just happened? Could Nakago be faking? Actually in perfect health and only pretending? Miaka wanted - desperately – to believe it was true. But she knew that it _wasn't. _Anyone with half a brain could see that. Nakago would have to be a consummate actor to perform Tenkou's bidding so beautifully without giving a single hint of his true intentions – and he had not hesitated, not in a single one of his actions so far –

_It's like he's been reprogrammed, _she thought. _The kudoku is gone, but it __**changed**__ him somehow – _

But that was how kudoku worked. It changed your personality, your perceptions of the world. It altered your values and your loves. _Like Tamahome. _

Thinking of Tamahome brought a second realization to Miaka's mind, more depressing than the first. _Nakago and I just kissed and nothing happened. That means I just proved that a kiss won't bring Nakago back_.

Tears of pain and defeat brimmed in her eyes, clouding her vision. She blinked rapidly. "Nakago – please." She was beginning to panic – what else could she try? – she had to try _something. _"_Wake up!_" she said, but for all the good that plea did, she might have been shouting orders at a statue.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tasuki start forward. Nakago barely moved, but there was a flash of blue, and Tasuki was thrown backward, into a tree. Miaka screamed. Nakago raised a hand, and an ice-blue ball of chi appeared inside it. He studied it idly for a moment, and then raised lazy eyes toward the rest of the seishi, poised on the incline.

"I could destroy all of you right now," he said, in a voice that was almost bored, "but you are not even worth my time or energy, and I have my orders to bring your dear miko to Tenkou with minimal delay. I suppose I'll leave the demons to finish you off.

"No!" Miaka exclaimed, but Nakago had already seized her by the arm. She tried to singe him, and when that didn't work she thrashed and kicked and punched as though her life depended on it. She might have been punching granite for all the effect it had on him. He caught her arms and pinned them against her sides. Then, without even a backward glance at her companions, they dove into the lake.

-v-

**Author's Note: **

As some of you may have realized by now, I tend to get the urge to update at the busiest and most inconvenient of times. So it makes a perverse sort of sense that I've decided to pick this up again the weekend before my first series of exams. At least it's an off time for most people, so this time it's only myself that I'm screwing over :-P

Thanks so much to _wanda von dunayev_, _Almecestris, md06783, TheStrangerAlice, Azelf1717, Helena, megumisakura, tohru78, and Sakura-Gekido'Ikata-Chan _for your reviews! I love getting feedback, so drop me a line, even if it's just "Why do random biology facts keep sneaking into this story?" or "Are exciting things actually going to start happening now?"

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Anything you recognize is the property of Yuu Watase.

-v-

**Questions (from you): **

**1. I die every time I finish a chapter! This is the sole reason why I don't read in-progress stories.**

Hahaha I'm so sorry. I'm trying to update as quickly as my schedule and * cough * procrastination permits…

**2. Does someone possessed retain their conscious at all? Will Boushin be terribly traumatized, or will he not remember? I know you talked about when Miaka was possessed, but she seems to always be a special case.**

Hmm, I'm pretty sure Boushin's ~4, which would suggest infantile amnesia will apply to the event. Basically, autobiographical memories, memories of events that happened to you, aren't really stored before the age of ~3-5 (so when Harry Potter says he remembers the events that happened to him when he was 1 year old, he's either lying or wizard memory works different from mere muggle memory). Which is great news for Boushin. Not sure if someone possessed retains their conscious memory in general; I'll just say it varies from person to person and it will probably seem hazy if they do remember at all.

**3. What about Ashitare? I don't recall mention of him, at the moment**

He had a short cameo (in wolf form) in the first 10 chapters or so, when he attacked Miaka in the garden and was abruptly and rather randomly killed. Of course, that was back when I thought this was going to be a 20-chapter story…

**4. Is Lanxing a real plant? Mama Nakkie told Nakkie about that plant when she was almost died... right? Can that flower heal him? **

No. I made it up. Yes, she did. I have no idea.

**5. How many chapters left do you think you will write? **

…67 chapters total I think. And possibly a massive epilogue. Oh, hey. That means only ten more chapters! Yay. Home stretch and all that.

**6. ****Please tell me Chiriko is somehow going to be okay? Please? And Hotohori is not going to have to do The Most Terrible Thing?**

Everything will be fine. Probably. Maybe. Possibly.

-v-

**Questions (for you): **

1. Did this chapter feel bipolar? I feel like my attempts at making the tone of this story more consistent just died again.

2. Why does the developing embryo have to be so damn complicated? (If there weren't so many silly signaling molecules to memorize, I would be able to spend more time working on Protected!)

3. …CRAP! Did I just see a fruit fly in our kitchen? O_o


	58. Tenkou's Mercy

**...**

**LVIII**

**Tenkou's Mercy**

**...**

Kaen was running. Demons glared at her from the cliffs, drawing cold shivers down her spine. She hunched over, clutching the two metal objects tighter to her chest. The demons seemed to know that she was on their side. At least, they did not attack her as she slipped beneath their shadow. A party of them moved aside to let her pass.

_I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid –_

Demons, Kaen reminded herself, were not the cruel men who had hurt her. Demons were just beings under Lord Tenkou's control, and Tenkou had promised to keep her safe.

_Tenkou doesn't want to see me dead, because I've helped him. I'm helping him now, by bringing him the objects of power – and he promised me – he promised me that _he_ would help _me_ when I got to the lake, by taking away all my memories, by making Soi vanish forever – _

The scepter of Kutou was cold in her grasp, but the mirror was warm. Kaen slid the mirror into her pocket and wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, shivering. She had two of them with her now: the scepter and the mirror. They would be added insurance against Miaka's completing the summoning ceremony.

The others would be missing her soon, but that did not matter – Kaen had a good lead on them, and she had the demons on her side, and by the time they realized what she'd stolen it would be too late; they would not be able to hurt her – she would be safe. Safe with Lord Tenkou. He would keep any of them from harming her.

Nakago wouldn't harm her, either. Nakago was safe now, safe because of Kaen's actions in the forest last night. She recalled the look that had crossed Nakago's eyes after she'd thrown the knife into the forest – his initial shock superseded by blankness as the kudoku took effect.

And then he had stood up (Kaen had backpedaled sharply) and told her in cool, impassive monotone:

_"Go to the camp of the Suzaku no miko and tell them Nakago is dead." _

The demons were still above her, but Kaen had ceased to notice them. She reached the place where the narrow trail ended and stared at the rock face. Nakago was already bringing Miaka to Tenkou via the water passage. But there were other ways to get to Tenkou's lair, ways that didn't involve getting wet and cold. Tenkou had told her of the secret tunnels, tunnels that would bring her directly to him. Now, Kaen raised her palm to the wall and touched it, about to apply pressure to a part of the rock where a certain symbol was carved –

A noise, somewhere above her.

Kaen froze and yanked her hand away from the rock. The demons were drawing back, hissing – as though in fear or alarm. Why were the demons drawing back? Was it something in the tunnel? Were they afraid? But what could possibly frighten demons?

And then Kaen heard footsteps on the rock, directly behind her. Kaen whirled round – and stared into eyes that were a frightening shade of blue.

Suboshi's clothes were tattered and ripped; his face was bloody; he looked as though he had been the survivor of some kind of attack. His sword was raised to point at Kaen – _No, not at me, _Kaen thought nervously, _not at me, at the demons behind me._

The little girl behind Suboshi did not look much better. Her frayed dress was torn, stained with dirt and possibly blood. She glanced nervously at the demons on the ridge above them and huddled closer to Suboshi.

Suboshi opened his mouth.

"Where's my brother?" he said.

-v-

They were underwater, and Miaka was starting to run out of air. The pain of the initial impact of the water on her skin was overshadowed by the burning sensation of water filling her nostrils. She struggled against Nakago's unyielding grip – he was supposed to be bringing her to Tenkou, not trying to drown her! And yet, he was pulling her deeper underwater, swimming with unperturbed, measured strokes. She opened her stinging eyes, but could see only darkness. Was he trying to kill them both? Miaka opened her mouth to scream, to yell, but her efforts only caused her to inhale more water. Panicking, she tried to throw up a shield, to singe Nakago, but – as had happened last time she had almost drowned, Miaka felt nothing, not even a flicker of power against her skin. She clawed at Nakago – air – she had to get back to the surface – she needed _air –_

And then, miraculously, there _was_ air – beautiful, cool, life-saving _air _on her skin. She did not understand how it was possible, but she knew better than to question it; she simply lay on the cool stone floor and gasped as though her life depended on it. The hard rock beneath her face felt like heaven. For a long time she lay against it like a half-drowned animal, occasionally pausing to cough the water from her lungs.

Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings, of the fact that they were not entirely alone. They were in some kind of grand stone antechamber, a cavernous room of intricate carvings. Miaka glanced behind her and saw the tunnel through which Nakago and she had just swum, saw light shimmer and flicker off the murky water. Light that seemed to be coming from torches on the walls –

Miaka turned. The cavern was only dimly illuminated, and it seemed to extend forever. Miaka could not see where it ended. She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light.

"Good morning, Miaka," said Tenkou.

"I'd say it's around early afternoon, actually," said Miaka, wringing out her skirt as best she could and standing up. "But I guess it's a bit hard to tell time in this cave. Is this where you live? No wonder you look like a cross between a vampire and a corpse. I don't suppose you get much vitamin D this far below ground. Was it really necessary for Nakago to try to drown me just now? Is the only way to get here through underwater tunnels?"

"It is by far the fastest," said Tenkou, "and the surest way of not being followed."

Miaka snuck a glance at Nakago, who appeared almost as wet as she was, though rather less covered in goose-pimples. Nakago regarded her coldly, and she felt her resolve slipping.

"Perfect, isn't he?"

Miaka's eyes darted back toward Tenkou. The demon lord was smiling. The expression gave his features a cruel, almost wolfish look. "I don't think he's perfect at all!" she said, glaring. "You had no right to do this to him."

She glanced at Nakago again, hoping her words might garner some response. Anything was better than the cold, uncaring visage he sported now. But Nakago's face remained impassive. He looked almost bored.

"I had every right," Tenkou said softly. "These are not real people, Miaka."

"Yes they are." Miaka's voice was heated.

"Of course, you would say so," Tenkou said thoughtfully. "You probably even believe it. You fell _in love_ with one of them, didn't you?"

She sucked in a breath, glaring at him. "The person I fell in love with was real," she snapped. "He might not have been from our world, but Tamahome was _real_."

"You entered the world of the Shijitenchisho through the pages of a book," said Tenkou, ignoring her. "I entered the Shijitenchisho from Earth through a portal, many hundreds of years ago in this world's time, barely a hundred years ago in Earth time. Since I came here, I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, cities built and destroyed, men coming and then leaving this world like the tides. We are not like them, Miaka. We are different, you and I – and Taiitsukun. The gods."

"But we aren't gods," Miaka found herself saying.

"No," said Tenkou grandly, "in this universe, we are something far greater than the gods."

Miaka found herself shying away from this line of talk, as though she feared the insights it might lead to. She drew in a breath. "Where are we?" she asked instead. "Is this another illusion like before, or am I–"

"In my kingdom? Hardly. We are at the barrier between hell and the real world." He paused. "I must thank you, Miaka, for making my task so easy."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you played right into my hands. You kept Nakago alive long enough for the kudoku to take effect, you practically arrived of your own free will on my doorstep, and you permitted yourself to be captured by Nakago and brought to me – I really wonder if there was any way you could have made my task easier." He studied his fingernails. "Possibly by coming with Tomo, that night in the cave. I still need to pay you back for that kick, by the way."

"Why do you want me here so badly?"

"Because you are the key to my freedom." He glanced behind her. "Good heavens, what have we here? One of your friends?"

Miaka turned. Her heart sank. Amiboshi had somehow managed to drag himself through the underwater tunnel and into the cave. He was still alive, though decidedly worse for the wear, and he seemed to be coughing even more lake water from his lungs than Miaka had previously.

Miaka hurried forward, concerned, but Nakago's arm caught her across the chest before she could get more than two paces. She hissed – she would have bruises from their collision later – and tried to duck under his extended limb, but he caught her by the shoulder and drove her to her knees. Pain lanced up her legs, and Miaka yelled. Tenkou was approaching Amiboshi, arm outstretched. Panicking, Miaka raised her hand; a shield blossomed from her fingers to encase Amiboshi in red light –

"Really," Tenkou murmured. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Huh?" Miaka, still anchored uncomfortably by Nakago's harsh grip, stared at Tenkou in bewilderment.

Tenkou smiled. He shattered the shield protecting Amiboshi with a cool flourish. Miaka watched, unspeaking, as fragments of red light sparkled and dissipated.

"So much power," said Tenkou, "but still so little understanding of how to use it. Nakago taught you _some _things – I suppose we can't blame him for you not reaching your full potential, he _was _rather preoccupied with the kudoku in his last days, after all."

The cavern floor was trembling. Miaka ignored the small earthquake and glared at Tenkou. But before Miaka could offer an acerbic retort, Amiboshi stood up and scrambled to his feet, flute in hand. "Let Miaka go," said Amiboshi quietly. As he raised the flute to his lips, Miaka saw the blood dripping from his right hand and remembered the arrow wound. The arrow was gone now, but he still held the flute gingerly.

_Baka! _thought Miaka, rather uncharitably. _You don't even know if your powers are working_.

"Well isn't this precious," Tenkou said calmly. "A hero, come to champion the cause of the Priestess of Suzaku. You have no shortage of heroes, I understand." He shrugged and waved a hand. "Very well, the boy has been valiant enough to make it this far. It would be rude not to honor him by hearing his performance."

Amiboshi put the flute to his lips and began to play.

In spite of Amiboshi's wound, in spite of the blood that continued to trickle down the back of Amiboshi's right hand, Miaka thought that it was the saddest, most entrancing song she had ever heard. Amiboshi played of forests and fields and the way the sky looked just before sunset. He played of autumns and fall rains, of the ocean obscured on a misty morning, of the leaves curling up to die in a frost. He played of heroes and unfulfilled journeys, of loss and longing, of life's final fade to gray, when there is no breath to sustain it.

Miaka listened. When at last the song trailed toward its inevitable confusion, Miaka had tears in her eyes. She could only watch, dazed, as Amiboshi lowered his flute to stare at Tenkou.

"An enchanting song," said Tenkou.

Miaka blinked.

"Not for you, it seems." Amiboshi looked unsurprised, if not mildly saddened.

"What can I say? I was never very fond of music."

"Then kill me," Amiboshi said, "and be done with it."

"No, that would be quite a waste. And yet, since you asked me _so nicely –_"

There was a snap that echoed throughout the cave. Amiboshi cried out. The sound jerked Miaka out of the remaining vestiges of her daze. Miaka screamed. Amiboshi, very pale, was staring at his wrist, which was suddenly bent at sharp angles to his arm, in a way that no wrist should ever physically _be_ bent.

"There," Tenkou said merrily. "I won't kill you outright, but a broken wrist will be just as good for now, hmm? And will take your mind off that vile arrow wound."

"_Stop it!_" Miaka screamed. _"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" He should never have followed me. Why are men so stupid?_ Miaka buried her nails into Nakago's side, clawing at the place where she had wounded him with Tomo's sword. He shifted marginally, but just enough; Miaka managed to wrest a hand free. A ball of chi formed in her palm, and she hurled it at Tenkou with all the rage and fury and hatred she could muster.

He deflected it with a laugh. "Slightly better," he said, "but only slightly."

The realization that he had been tormenting Amiboshi just to test Miaka's powers brought a sick feeling to her stomach. "You're despicable," she whispered.

"I already told you," said Tenkou, "that characters in a book are not real people."

"You say that to justify your own sick desires," Miaka spat.

"I say it because it's true."

He seemed to be growing bored of the conversation, for Miaka saw him turn away. Miaka hesitated, wondering if she ought to try, again, to broach the subject of why he had wanted her down here so badly.

But at that moment, they were interrupted. A clattering of feet on rocks heralded the arrival of multiple newcomers. They came from the opposite side of the cave, not from the watery entrance that Miaka had believed – until now – to be the only way in. _The cave has a back door_. _I wonder where it leads to. _She saw a figure step out from the hole in the wall. For a moment, the shadows obscured Miaka's view, and she could make out only the woman's silhouette. _So familiar. Just like – hang on –_

"_Kaen_?" Miaka exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Kaen seemed determined to not meet her eyes. Amiboshi shot Miaka a pained look across the cavern, a look full of meaning.

_Oh, _thought Miaka. _Of course. _Kaen had lied to them. Last night she had claimed - falsely - that Nakago was dead. And now, here was further proof of her treachery; Kaen was in this cave, right now, approaching Tenkou, and carrying – Miaka's insides gave a lurch – what seemed to be the scepter of Kutou and the mirror of Sairou. Miaka knew she ought to have been horrified; instead, she found herself mildly annoyed. Her wild accusations the previous night had actually been _right?_ Was the universe playing some kind of perverse joke on her?

Kaen spoke to Tenkou, but her words were too quiet to hear. Whatever she had to say seemed to please Tenkou, however, for he let out a slight laugh.

"The scepter and the mirror _and _the sword – well done, indeed."

"But my lord, Soi's come back." Miaka heard the words this time, though Kaen spoke very softly. "She lied to me – she said she was gone for good – _and then she came _back –"

_What is she talking about?_ Miaka wondered.

"It just goes to show," said Tenkou softly, "that Taiitsukun's creatures are not to be trusted. They only make false promises to further their own interests. Would you like to be rid of Soi forever?"

"Yes," whispered Kaen, not lifting her head.

Tenkou made a snatching motion with his right hand. Kaen let out a gasp of what seemed to be pain. A second later, a glass bottle appeared before them, containing a glittering point of white light. Tenkou caught it. He held it out to Kaen, who reached out, tentatively, to take the bottle.

"What –"

"Soi's soul," said Tenkou. "You wanted it removed from your body, did you not?"

Kaen stared at the glowing glass orb in front of her. (Miaka stared too, brought out of her misery by her fascination at the sight of the swirling white mist). "What will happen to her?" Kaen asked.

"She will provide fine entertainment for later," said Tenkou.

"And my memories?" Kaen whispered.

"Have patience. The memories you retain now are not Soi's but your own – You have spent many of your waking hours as Kaen pondering Soi's memories that they have become, shall we say, incorporated into your conscious mind. I will remove those memories when I return.

"But on to happier topics! It seems my dear Kaen has brought us a guest. Come now, boy, step out of the shadows; do not be shy –"

And then Miaka saw the other person who had entered the room with Kaen. She noticed him at about the same time as Amiboshi did. Amiboshi shouted his brother's name gladly (Miaka was surprised that he was still conscious, let alone capable of shouting) and hurried forward.

Suboshi looked furious, but at the sight of Amiboshi, his own eyes lit up. Miaka could tell from the look on his face that his relief at the sight of his brother was decidedly _not_ for show. _He has an odd way of showing it though. _Because, just as soon as the relief had flashed across Suboshi's face, it was abruptly replaced with a furious scowl. "You _idiot!"_ Miaka heard him shout. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you. Do you know how hard it was for me to find you? What happened to your _hand_?"

Tenkou steepled his fingers together. "As touching as I find this sweet scene – two brothers, torn apart by a shipwreck, reuniting at long last – I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt you."

"Huh?" Suboshi whirled to glare at the demon lord. "Who the hell are you?"

"The _Lord_ of Hell," said Tenkou coolly.

"So that means that Kaen –" Suboshi turned. "Conveniently left out the fact that you were bringing us to Tenkou, when you said you'd take us to Amiboshi, didn't you? I _knew_ you were acting fishy –"

"Us?" Tenkou repeated silkily. Suboshi glared at him. Kaen said, trembling:

"There was a little girl, a girl who came with him, but she vanished into the caves –"

"I told her to hide," Suboshi said, with a glare in Kaen's direction, "because I didn't trust you."

Kaen flinched.

"How long have you been working for Tenkou?" Miaka asked Kaen. She was surprised to find that she was not angry. Instead, she felt rather sad. "Why did you say you had killed Nakago when he wasn't really dead?"

"He did not deserve an honorable death," Kaen said, finally looking at her. "I thought it would hurt Nakago the most to see himself like this, because this is what he feared the most."

"Clever Kaen," said Tenkou. He turned toward Suboshi, who was starting toward him, and immobilized him with a glare. "Tie up the brothers Boshi, if you would be so kind," said Tenkou silkily. "They will make excellent entertainment for later."

"You know what would make excellent entertainment?" Miaka snapped. "Your head on a pike."

Tenkou shrugged. "I don't see what would be so entertaining about having carrion crows ripping apart my flesh, personally, but we already know what a morbid sense of humor you have." And before Miaka had time to contemplate the irony of this remark, Tenkou went on: "Is that the sword of Konan I see? Excellent."

He reached forward to draw the blade from its scabbard, but then drew his hand back with a sharp hiss.

"Yeah," said Suboshi, almost jeering. "I'd be careful touching that, if I were you. It doesn't really like being fondled by ugly, nasty creatures like – NNGH!"

"Twin brothers," Tenkou said softly, "with broken wrists. How very symmetrical. I can see we are going to have fun later, but I fear it will have to wait until I've achieved my goal of world conquest. So I shall have to disappoint you.

"Now, Miaka," he said, and she gulped. "It is time for you to help me break free of this prison."

"And what," she said coldly, "makes you think that I will ever be inclined to help you?"

"I said nothing about helping me _willingly_," said Tenkou, shrugging. "I use 'help' in merely the general sense of the word - as in, you will be of assistance to me whether it pleases you or not." He paused. "I suppose you have noticed that despite the fact that your god is sealed, your power is practically unaffected?"

Miaka's eyes narrowed.

Tenkou smiled coolly. "Your power was never given to you by the gods – nor even by Taiitsukun."

"Then what –"

"I told you, Miaka." His voice was almost impatient."In this universe, the people from Earth are special. We live longer – and we are far more powerful, and the longer we live, the more powerful we become."

Miaka wanted to tune out his words. She could not trust anything he said – he was the enemy – she had no desire to fall into one of his traps, would be better off by ignoring him. But she could not deny that his words made a perverse kind of sense, that his explanation perfectly filled the gaps that had been left in her own, somewhat crude, understanding of the inner workings of the world of the book. Like the reason Miaka had full possession of her powers, while her seishi had none. And the way Taiitsukun, and Tenkou, had been able to gain so much power.

And yet, they were not all-powerful – certainly not Tenkou at this moment, or why else would he still be residing in this place – on the border between his realm and the world? Miaka's eyes narrowed. "You've lived here forever and you're still not powerful enough to break free of this prison."

"No," he said. "That is where you come in, my dear Yuuki. You are also from Earth – and so, you have the same special sort of power not granted by the gods. I cannot free myself – no – but the cumulative sum of our powers _will_ be enough to free me from this prison. That is why I have brought you here, Miaka."

"You can't," she said. "I won't let you."

"I would like to see you try and stop me," he said. "I suppose by this point you are familiar with the many different forms of chi transfer? Skin-to-skin, mouth-to-mouth – those are the more innocent ways, although they suffer in terms of efficacy. Of course, there are other ways. If I wanted all your _chi_, I could devour your uncooked flesh, which I have always found to be somewhat messy and inefficient. I could also stab you directly through the heart with a weapon of power like this sword, and suck your power through it. Magical objects tend to channel energy quite well – but I suppose you've discovered this already, when you used the scepter of Kutou to heal Soi so handily." He smiled thinly, shrugging. "There is also the _Bochuu-Jutsu_ technique, which has the benefit of leaving the victim alive."

Miaka felt herself going pale. "Over my dead –"

"If I had more time I might try it," Tenkou said, sweeping a hand across Miaka's cheek in a mockery of tenderness, "but I'm afraid that will have to wait for later. As it is, there is an easier way to siphon off your powers that will also leave you alive and is far more expedient. All I require is your blood. Just a little."

He reached forward and, pulling out a knife, made a long, diagonal slash across Miaka's wrist. Miaka gasped at the cold sting of the blade on her skin. The nerves in her arm flared up in pain. She tried to squirm away, but Nakago was still holding her in his inexorable grip, and she found she couldn't move.

"Stop it," she said, but she might as well have been telling the earth to stop revolving around the sun. She heard Amiboshi's horrified yell, but for her part, Miaka could only watch as Tenkou leaned down – closer – closer – till his lips were flush against the wound –

There was a faint buzzing sound and a light appeared around her. Miaka watched, a little dazed, as it enveloped her, growing strong and green and vibrant. Tenkou took a step back. For the first time, he studied Miaka's neck, which bore the necklace of the Emperor of Hokkan.

"Ah," Tenkou said, "I see. The necklace protects you against magical assault. Very clever. I suppose that is why I have had such difficulty invading your mind these last few days."

_Was that what the necklace of Hokkan did? _ Miaka remembered the night before, when she had awoken from her nightmare to find that someone had removed the beads from her neck and placed them in her pocket. _It was around my neck before that, while I was on the boat, and I didn't have dreams about Tenkou on those nights – _

Tenkou nodded slightly, but not to her. Miaka felt Nakago shift behind her, and she felt his fingers deftly undo the clasp that held the necklace shut. Blankly, Miaka watched the necklace fall to the ground like a limp, discarded piece of clothing.

Her arm was still bleeding.

"Shall we continue?" said Tenkou.

And he lowered his face, once more, to the wound.

"Stop it," Miaka said, more desperately now, but she was paralyzed, incapable of enforcing her wishes, and Tenkou didn't move.

It started slowly, with the feeling of weakening in her arms and lower extremities; then the feeling intensified until Miaka almost wanted to scream. She felt as though her powers were being pulled away in a firm, inexorable grip, leeched out little by little. She fought against it, trying to hold onto her power with all her will – but Tenkou was older, and much, much stronger. It was not a question of power, but a question of will. Miaka might have been determined, but Tenkou was a black cloud of rage and hatred and fury, fury at being trapped underground for so long, fury at being held captive. He _would_ be free – there was no negotiation about this matter – he would escape and go on to wreak his revenge upon the four kingdoms and beyond –

_No, _Miaka thought, _no, this isn't happening – stop it, they're _my_ powers, you can't take them –_

But it was watching the waters rush out of a shattered dam; no matter what she did, how she struggled, how she tried to stem the flow, she felt her powers flee her, leaving her weak and numb and entirely empty.

"Crude," said Tenkou, straightening and wiping the excess blood from his mouth, "but ultimately effective."

Miaka stared at him. She felt dizzy, weak, unable to move. She reached for her powers, but felt nothing.

"Farewell," said Tenkou, "When I return, the entire world in my hands, and the gods will be under my control. And all thanks to you, my dear Miko."

"No," she whispered, but he only laughed. Trembling, Miaka watched him vanish through the side door through which Kaen had emerged. Miaka felt her eyes blurring with something that might have been tears. She slumped in Nakago's grip and closed her eyes, hardly caring that her head had come to rest on Nakago's shoulder.

She had failed.

-v-

**Author's note: ...**Vampire much?

Exams are over! Which means I have a bit of a breather and time to post. And what a fun post this was… heh heh heh…

Review please…? It makes me happy to have your guys' feedback – not to mention helps me get through writing more difficult sections. Even if it's just 'This is crap!' or 'This makes no sense!' I want to know, so that the stories I write in the future will be better! :)

**Questions (from you): **

None?

**Questions (for you): **

Is there too much going on in this chapter? Did everything that happened make sense? Is everyone just waiting till the story is finished to read this? :)


	59. Reunited

**LIX **

**Reunited**

For the hundredth time that day, Nuriko reminded herself that violence against close friends was not generally considered the sort of behavior befitting of an Empress of Konan.

Even _really annoying _close friends.

She tightened her grip on Tasuki's collar and glared at him. Tasuki responded by glaring back, balefully.

"For the last time, you are NOT jumping in after them," Nuriko snarled. "You swim about as well as a pile of rocks, and we have no idea where Nakago and Miaka and Amiboshi went, and there are demons staring at us, and the last thing I want to have to do right now is haul an unconscious, asphyxiated bandit to safety."

Nuriko shot a nervous glance toward the demons on the ridge. Even after Nakago's departure, the demons continued to watch them silently, with unnerving, quiet focus. It was as though they were awaiting a command that had never arrived.

As she eyed the demons, wondering what sorts of gleefully evil thoughts might be going through their twisted minds, Nuriko heard a small rumbling sound. It was the only warning she had before the ground lurched beneath her feet.

"The horses!" yelled Subaru. The horses, already spooked by their recent encounters with demons, whinnied and shrieked. Tasuki swore and grabbed for the nearest bridles.

The ground had ceased shuddering. Nuriko frowned and regarded the others.

"What do you say we get out of here?" she said nervously. "I don't like the look of things at all."

"But Miaka an' Amiboshi–"

What she needed, Nuriko thought, was a leash. A really big leash that would keep Tasuki in check. Except Tasuki was bigger than she was, and would probably succeed in dragging _her_ into the lake, instead of the other way round.

"They're beyond our reach, Tasuki. Throwing yourself in the lake won't make matters any better, and may well make matters worse."

Nuriko was glad for the steadiness in Subaru's voice. It was a good thing one of them had the sense to remain calm.

" Let's focus right now on getting to someplace safe," said Nuriko. She peered around for the likeliest shelter and pointed. "Let's make for that outcropping, over there. It'll at least give us shelter against the rain."

They began to run, hurrying along as best they could, leading the remaining horses by the bridle. The horses were inclined to panic, and it took a great deal of energy to keep them calm. Tasuki kept falling off his mount, until Nuriko barked at him that it might be faster if he walked. His cursing was giving her a headache.

They took shelter inside a cave. It was small, barely more than a depression in the rock, but at least it provided shelter against the light rain that was starting. Nuriko and Tasuki tethered the horses outside. It took awhile. They were half-drenched by the time they joined Subaru inside the cave.

"Are the demons still out there?" Subaru asked.

"Yeah," said Nuriko.

A flash of lightning split the sky. "CURSES!" Nuriko shrieked. The remaining horses, startled by the ensuing clap of thunder, had broken through their tethers and were bolting. "GET BACK HERE!" she hollered, but the animals were already halfway around the lake.

"It's all right," said Subaru. "We can always get new horses, provided we survive this encounter."

Nuriko sat in morose silence for the next ten minutes. She had _liked _the horses. It was only when Tasuki muttered, "What's that noise?" that Nuriko looked up.

"What noise?" she said.

"Shh. Footsteps, I think –"

Nuriko frowned. She thought she might hear something, towards the back of the cave, but the rain outside made it hard to tell. "Probably –" _a mouse _she meant to say, but before the words were out of her mouth, the back of the cave started rumbling.

For a split second, Nuriko thought they were having another earthquake. She opened her mouth to curse. Then she realized it was worse. A portion of the wall toward the back of the cave was _actually swinging outward_, opening up to reveal –

Nuriko felt a curl of deep foreboding. "Hide!" she hissed sharply.

Tasuki and Subaru darted into the shadows – and not a moment too soon. A second later, the door opened fully and a tall man emerged from the back of the cave and stepped into the light. Nuriko could see his tall form reflected on the waters of the lake. She felt her stomach roil as she took in long, dark hair and slender white fingers. There was a feeling of intense power about this man that Nuriko _really _did not like.

The man turned his face up toward the demons on the ridge and smiled. The expression looked cold and cruel on his face. Then he started forward, toward the assembled demons. He gave no verbal command, but he must have done _something_, for the demons turned and began to move, heading east. Laughing, the tall man followed them.

Nuriko, Tasuki, and Subaru watched him go.

"I think it's safe to guess that the demons were waiting for something." Subaru's voice was deeply shaken. "They were waiting for Tenkou."

"If Tenkou's escaped –"

Nuriko wasn't listening. She was already hurrying toward the back of the cave, toward the place in the rock where Tenkou had so abruptly appeared. If she squinted, she could just make out the outline of the door through which Tenkou had entered. It took her a few tries to find the latch that opened the secret door. If she just pressed –

_Aha!_

With a brief glance at the dark passage that yawned before her, Nuriko turned toward Subaru and Tasuki.

"We'll follow this passage down," she said.

"Say," said Tasuki, as they started down the stone steps through which Tenkou had just emerged. "What ever happened to Kaen?"

-v-

Miaka must have blacked out for a couple minutes. When she regained consciousness, someone was wrapping a rough bandage around her wrist. Miaka blinked and opened her eyes. "Kaen?"

Kaen flinched a little. But the other woman did not speak to Miaka – did not even so much as look at her. Her lips thinned as she continued to wrap the bandage around the cut on Miaka's arm. She tied the bandage off tightly in a knot and stepped backward quickly, making her way to the back of the cave as though she could not stand to be in Miaka's presence for very long.

"Kaen," Miaka called again.

The other woman did not even turn around. Miaka watched her for a moment, noting the girl's hunched shoulders and pinched face (she recognized guilt when she saw it). Miaka frowned. Then, hoping the movement would not cause her to faint, Miaka sat up.

Nothing had changed during Miaka's moment of unconsciousness. She was still underground. At the back of the cave, Amiboshi and Suboshi lay, tightly bound. It was hard to tell, from this angle, if they were still awake, or even alive. Miaka cringed as her eyes fell upon Amiboshi's broken wrist, held stiffly by his side.

Her eyes traveled slightly to the left of the twins, to the corner of the cave where Kaen still sat, shoulders hunched. The sword of Konan lay beside her, but Kaen did not seem to care; her legs were crossed; she was staring in front of her, almost angrily, at a bottle which held a white, glowing mist at its center –

_Soi's soul,_ Miaka thought, feeling slightly chilled. She remembered how Tenkou had plucked Soi's soul from Kaen's body as though he was picking a feather off a chicken. Tenkou had fixed Kaen's "problem," trapping Soi inside the glass bottle that Kaen was holding now. _What does he intend to do with her?_

But Tenkou was gone now. He had taken Miaka's powers and headed above-ground, to what end Miaka could only imagine, although she knew that it could not bode well for any of them. And the demon lord had been careful to leave behind an assurance that they did not escape –

Miaka's turned, reluctantly, to face the cave's final occupant.

Nakago stood by the water. In spite of the dim light, Miaka could tell that he was drinking in the entire scene with the watchful ease to which Miaka had grown accustomed when he guarded their camp after dark.

Except the man she watched wasn't really Nakago, and right now he was standing guard _over_ her, instead of keeping her safe.

The ground was trembling.

Miaka froze. She could feel the ground beneath her palms vibrating. As quickly as it had started, the earthquake passed. Miaka glanced up, nervously, at the ceiling of the cave, but everything seemed to be still intact. _Weird._

She turned back to the matter at hand, wincing as she accidentally tried to put her weight on her injured hand. Unlike Amiboshi and Suboshi, Miaka's hands were not tied. Perhaps Tenkou had thought Miaka so small and so trivial a threat that he had not thought restraining her was necessary. More likely, he had thought that she had no hope of escaping, with Nakago standing watch. _We'll see about that_, Miaka thought.

She braced herself against the wall and struggled to her feet. It took more energy than she expected to drag herself upright. Now she understood why Tenkou hadn't even bothered to restrain her. Her legs and arms felt as weak and powerless as mashed potatoes. Her clothes were still damp from her recent swim, and she shivered with cold. It seemed that having the chi sucked out of her – literally – had also drained her physical strength. Even the thought of approaching Amiboshi and Suboshi at the back of the cave made Miaka want to lie down and take a nap.

But Nakago was closer than the twins. Miaka might actually be able to approach him if she kept one hand on the wall for balance. She closed her eyes, gathered what little strength remained, and slowly made her way toward him.

"Nakago?" she whispered.

He looked at her, and Miaka stopped. His eyes – for all they were still blue – held the same chilling emptiness that she had come to recognize in Tenkou's gaze. She felt despair fill her – and yet she forced herself to step forward, to take one of Nakago's hands in hers. The skin of his hand felt warm, real, and solid – so much in contrast with the icy evil that inhabited his body that Miaka was almost unnerved.

"Please," she murmured. "I _know_ you're here somewhere – I _know_ you're still alive – you're too strong for Tenkou to have destroyed your mind completely. Come back, Nakago – we need you so much now – please – try to remember –"

But Nakago continued to stand, silent, practically motionless. Miaka trailed off, staring sadly at his fingers. Absently, she turned his hand over, traced the faint scars on his palm. Did he even remember receiving those injuries – shattering glass with the force of his grip on the day of Taria's death? Miaka felt her heart sink as the seconds passed – found it harder and harder to swallow her disappointment. A tear detached from her eyelash and made a slow descent down her cheek.

And then, without warning, Nakago moved. His arms circled round her, holding her, embracing her almost like a lover – she gasped as she found her face buried in his shirt, her tears mingling with the water that still dripped from his hair.

"I remember."

He said the words gently, almost tenderly – a whisper, soft as a butterfly's wing against her ear. Her heart leapt in her throat, and she could feel herself trembling – could feel the shocks of her shivers against Nakago's solid frame. _Could it be true? _she wondered, even as she stifled a sob. She so desperately wanted it to be true – but she had wanted many things before –

"Nakago?" she said.

"I remember everything, Miaka."

A warning note, an alarm in her head at the sound of her name – but not in time to save her as he pushed her away. It was a rough shove, a push that sent her tumbling downward, face-first. The ground rose up to meet her, and she fell, hard, on the uneven floor of the cavern.

"Of course I remember who I was," Nakago said, and there was nothing gentle about his voice now. "I have all Nakago's memories."

"Then why –"

There was blood on her lip from where she had fallen, and her hands were scratched and bleeding; still, Miaka managed to turn so she was looking at him. He smiled pitilessly, blue eyes dancing in a way that terrified her. His dark chuckle echoed across the cavern.

"Do you truly believe that I liked the man I was, Miaka? The weak, powerless person I had become? Do you think I enjoyed not having Seiryuu's powers freely available to me? Having to watch a senseless miko _best_ me by trapping me in her own chi?"

The words had enough truth in them to give Miaka pause. _ Was that really how Nakago saw himself? _she wondered. _Did he truly hate what he'd become?_

No. That was the kudoku talking, slipping poisonous words under her skin to make her doubt herself. Miaka felt a surge of fury.

"Don't speak as if you are him," she said passionately. "You are _not_ the real Nakago. The real Nakago's in here _somewhere_ –" She jabbed him sharply in the chest "– and I know that if he could hear the garbage you're spewing right now, he'd want to have you strangled."

She felt him catch her arm cruelly, and she winced as he dragged her toward him. "Tenkou only ordered me not to kill you," Nakago murmured. "He never said anything about harming you or your friends. I wonder how much you value the dear little flute-playing seishi who followed you so poetically into the cave."

"Leave Amiboshi out of this," Miaka said sharply.

It was then that she saw it.

A small, dark shape was detaching itself from the wall of the cave and creeping forward. The creature – or whatever it was – was almost out of Nakago's line of sight, but very much within Miaka's line of vision.

Miaka blinked. The figure was half in darkness, but Miaka could already tell that it was much too small to be an adult. _A child? _As she watched, the figure stepped into the light.

Miaka froze.

_What on earth is __**Yurien**__ doing here? _

She looked older than Miaka remembered, and as dirty as Miaka had ever seen her, but it was _definitely _Yurien. Miaka saw the girl creep steadily forward, almost catlike, in a direct trajectory toward the incapacitated twins. The two brothers seemed to be having some kind of heated conversation over in their corner of the cave – they hadn't seen Yurien yet. Neither, thankfully, had Nakago. But it was only a matter of time before he noticed the girl, by means of her chi signature or some other method.

Desperately, Miaka cast around for something to distract Nakago. She reached into the pockets of her cloak – still wet and sodden –

And then she felt it. The _shin_ – the very item Nakago had given her before he departed – lay at the base of her pocket, smooth and reassuringly solid against her fingers.

"Nakago. Look at this."

Heart pounding, Miaka lifted the clamshell from her pocket, lifted it forward. She flipped it open with her thumb.

Nakago regarded the shell, which was showing once more the vision of Nakago's parents by the lake. But although Miaka waited, his expression of cruel amusement never flickered.

"How very entertaining," he said at last. "But I've already told you I'm in full possession of my memories. Seeing them in miniature will do absolutely nothing to persuade me to be on your side, Suzaku no miko."

As she watched, Nakago tugged the clamshell from her now-limp grasp, snapped it shut, and tossed it away.

Miaka's eyes filled suddenly, involuntarily, with tears.

Her last hope.

Her very last hope.

Gone.

"Now, what _do_ we have here?" said Nakago, and Miaka saw with a jolt of horror that he had finally noticed Yurien,

"It seems a little mouse has decided to sneak her way into the cave. Step closer, girl. What is your name?"

Yurien turned and tried to dart away, but Nakago made a slight pulling motion with his left hand, and the girl rose and began floating towards both of them. Distantly, Miaka heard herself scream at Nakago to stop it, to let Yurien go, but Nakago's only response was laughter. Miaka started forward and found herself abruptly thrust backward; she landed hard on the cold stone floor.

"What is your name?" Nakago asked Yurien, in a deceptively light, calm voice.

Yurien didn't answer, but glared up at him defiantly.

"I believe," said Nakago, advancing slowly on the girl, "that I asked you a question."

Nakago at his most menacing could be terrifying – Miaka knew this from first-hand experience, but still Yurien remained mulishly silent. At any other time, Miaka would have been quite proud of her. Now, Miaka's heart leapt in her throat. "She's called Yurien!" Miaka said, as she pulled herself off the stony floor of the cave. "Let her go!"

"Ah, so the two of you _know_ each other. How very precious."

Miaka felt a shiver of horror run up her spine.

"Miaka is my onee-chan." Yurien's voice was more accusatory than scared. "You _hit_ her."

"And I shall hit you too, if your onee-chan does not begin to behave. Perhaps I ought to make an example of you to punish her for her previous misbehavior. What do you think?"

Miaka stumbled forward, a protest on her lips, but to her astonishment, another figure was already stepping forward, out of the shadows, to place herself between Nakago and Yurien.

"I – I think you should stop. S-sir."

Kaen's chin was raised. Her brown eyes stared up at Nakago with a combination of determination and terror. "Sh-she's just a little girl," Kaen said quickly. "Please – I don't think Tenkou would have wanted –"

"Tenkou wanted the Priestess of Suzaku broken. He said nothing about what ought to be done with little girls who wandered into caverns too dangerous for them."

"But he wouldn't have hurt her – I know he wouldn't have hurt her – he _**promised**_ he wouldn't seriously harm Miaka, and that all of the innocent people would be _safe _–"

With one efficient blow, Nakago reached forward and backhanded Kaen across the face. The blow was so strong it sent Kaen reeling toward the back of the cave and the twins. Miaka heard her head strike the rock. She could not suppress a soft scream.

"Fool," said Nakago. "Some promises were _meant_ to be broken."

It was then – as Miaka watched Nakago stare at Kaen's prone form with cold, pitiless eyes – that Miaka understood.

Nakago was well and truly lost.

The Nakago Miaka knew was harsh, manipulative, and cold, with an ethics system that could generously be termed 'questionable', and an ego the size of Paris. He could be ruthless when it pleased him, merciless toward his enemies, and callous toward those who called themselves his allies.

But he would never have threatened a child.

And he certainly would never have slapped Haku Kaen.

The Nakago that Miaka knew was gone_. _ And, no matter how much she wished for it not to be true, he was not coming back.

Miaka felt coldly, terrifyingly empty.

_I have to kill him, _she thought. _He would not have wanted his life to be like this. I have to kill him, slay him, figure out some way to destroy the person he's become. Before he hurts anymore people._

The question was: How?

-v-

Amiboshi was sure they were going to die. The momentary joy he had felt upon finding his brother had been quickly eclipsed by his certainty that none of them would make it out alive. Strangely, his own death bothered him very little. He had already accepted his fate once before, long ago when – overwhelmed by guilt at betraying the Suzaku seishi – he had plunged backward into a rushing river. He had not expected to emerge alive from that experience, and occasionally he had wondered – in a half-musing, almost poetic way – how the events of the Shijintenchisho would have been altered had his parents not fished him out from the river in Makan.

So in the shadows of Tenkou's cave, Suboshi's and Miaka's fate worried him far more than his own. He had watched worriedly as Miaka regained consciousness and started toward Nakago, and he hadn't been able to suppress a muffled cry when he saw Nakago send Miaka careening to the floor of the cavern.

"She's not going to die, you know," said Suboshi, who was also watching the events, but with a much more detached air. "If anyone's going to kick the bucket, it'll be us. I wish you would stop worrying."

Amiboshi turned to Suboshi, his brow furrowing. Something had been wrong between them, ever since the day on the boat when they had played board games with Miaka – and Amiboshi suspected he knew how they had gone wrong. He frowned at his brother.

"I didn't get jealous," he said slowly. "When you fell in love with the priestess of Seiryuu, you know."

"You weren't even around," said Suboshi cuttingly. "You were off pretending to be a part of someone else's family. How do I know if you would have been jealous? You didn't even bother to let me know you were alive."

Amiboshi reconsidered his earlier assessment. Now that he thought about it, it seemed apparent to him that their animosity went back even further – all the way back to when Suboshi had found Amiboshi in Hokkan earlier that year, making a living as a traveling musician. Amiboshi watched Nakago catch Miaka's arm. "I didn't know what else to do," he said slowly.

Suboshi huffed a breath through his nose. "I thought you were dead, you idiot! And then it turned out were just in a random Hokkan village, pretending that if you tried hard enough, you could make all your problems disappear. And then, in this world, it was the same thing. I went to the palace of Kutou so that I could become a soldier to put food in our mouths. I even got you a place in the Kutou army. And then you go and waste all of that hard work by running off to become a traveling musician in Hokkan. Without even telling me you were leaving first!"

"It's because I'm a coward," Amiboshi said in a low voice.

"What? That's not what I – Gods, I have such an idiot for a brother."

"It's the truth." Amiboshi's remark was so sharp that Suboshi stared at him, startled. "I'll be the first to admit," he said, in softer tones, "that I don't like war, Suboshi! I don't like picking up a weapon, I don't like stabbing it through the heart of an enemy, I don't like the knowledge that someone has died because of me…

"In the Shijintenchisho," Amiboshi continued, into the silence, "Nakago wasn't going to use the wishes for the good of Kutou. I thought if I just disappeared, that if everyone thought I was dead, then Kutou wouldn't be able to summon the gods, and then there wouldn't be a war. And that's all I wanted. To be able to lie down at night and fall asleep, without a lot of dead bodies on my conscience."

"Well, your clever plan didn't work," said Suboshi.

"I know that," said Amiboshi, soberly. "It was stupid to think that it would, really."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"You can't make peace all the time, you know," Suboshi said finally. "Sometimes you just have to fight to get what you want. Sometimes it's actually worth it." He paused. "All the other times, it's just a lot of blood and guts and broken bones."

Amiboshi was surprised at the almost thoughtful quality that entered his brother's voice for a second. _I do believe he may be growing up. _

Amiboshi had barely worked his head around this surprising thought, when he was interrupted by a curse from Suboshi.

For a moment, Amiboshi thought the expletive was aimed at him. Then he looked at Suboshi and realized his brother wasn't even looking at him at all. Amiboshi followed his brother's line of sight and was confronted with the sight of Nakago hoisting Yurien aloft. _How did a little girl get in here?_

"I _told_ the stupid girl to stay hidden," Suboshi fumed, "and she goes off and gets herself captured!"

_Oh. _"Why were you traveling with –"

Suboshi scowled at him.

"All right." There was a bit of a pause, and then Amiboshi snorted. "I have missed you, you know. You're one person I don't want to be at odds with, no matter how much we disagree."

"I suppose I'm all right with that." Suboshi watched Miaka try to defend Yurien. "She's not… so bad, I guess."

"Truce?"

"Truce. I'd shake on it, but my hand isn't feeling so good at the moment."

Amiboshi let out a muffled hiss. Kaen had just received a slap on the face that sent her reeling toward them. Suboshi saw the blow and snorted. "Looks like Tenkou's not so worried about preserving his helpers!" he said.

"Kaen? Kaen!"Amiboshi struggled toward the fallen woman, inching along across the jagged rocks. He had to concentrate so as not to jar his screaming wrist.

"She'll be fine," Suboshi hissed. "She didn't even hit her head – Hey, get back here! _Seiryuu's_ _balls!_" Amiboshi heared Suboshi struggling toward Kaen too, his movements punctuated by muffled curses.

Kaen was mumbling. Gradually the brothers made out words.

"… no, no… he promised – he _promised_…"

"Kaen?" Amiboshi said gently.

Kaen turned wide, miserable eyes toward him. "Tenkou promised me nobody would get hurt," she whispered. "He _lied_."

"Evil demons tend to do that."

Behind Amiboshi, Suboshi snorted and tried to cover it up by coughing. Amiboshi cast him a disapproving glare.

Kaen hadn't noticed. She was crying, tears streaming down her face.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt." Kaen scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, which was almost as torn and dirty as Suboshi's. "I just – I want – _I want this to go away! _All of it! Tenkou promised me – he said if I did this, I could _forget _–"

"You actually believed something that Tenkou told you?" Suboshi said incredulously. Amiboshi made shushing motions in his direction.

"Tenkou can't make your memories vanish forever," said Amiboshi. "Even if he does rid you of your memories, you'll always know that there is something missing. You will always wonder. And you will continue to wonder, to worry at the dead, empty space in your head where the memories _ought_ to be. Perhaps you'll never recover those memories, and you will drive yourself mad trying to bring them back. Perhaps you will break through, find the memories again. And then the nightmares will start.

"The memories will eat you alive," said Amiboshi, "if you let them."

He spoke seriously, with no small amount of authority – but of course, Amiboshi knew plenty about memories and their uncanny ability to torment a person. And even without his flute, Amiboshi found power in words when he chose to. To the layperson, the words would have sounded gentle, but to Kaen, who had been haunted by memories for three months' time, they had an air of foreboding that sent her shuddering, as though he spoke in prophecy. Kaen was not really that much older that Amiboshi – four years, if that – and in personality, she was really hardly older at all. She stared up at him with a kind of horror.

"Is there," she whispered, "any hope at all? Any way to escape?"

"Yes."

She clutched at Amiboshi's sleeve desperately, not even noticing that it was the broken wrist she was grasping – for a moment, Amiboshi's face contorted sharply with pain, but he was so intent, so committed to his current goal, that he managed o push the pain of Kaen's grip to the back of his mind.

"What do I do?" said Kaen.

"You have to make new memories," said Amiboshi, "better memories, to crowd out all the horrible ones. Memories with friends – family –" he shot a surreptitious glance at Suboshi. "– and people who accept you."

"No one will accept me after this."

"We will," said Amiboshi firmly, and he glared at Suboshi until his brother nodded. "You'll have a place to return to, Kaen, even if your family doesn't want you back anymore. You'll be able to make happy memories, memories that you can wrap yourself in before dark, to guard against nightmares. It won't solve all your problems, but it's a start."

They could see Kaen slowly mulling this over.

"You could untie us," Suboshi said helpfully, "for a start."

"But I'll get in terrible trouble if I free you," she whispered. "Tenkou will punish me."

"Will it be worse than the things you have suffered already?" said Amiboshi.

She gave a dry croak that was almost a laugh. "I guess not," she said raggedly. "And he's going to punish me anyway, for going against Nakago."

"Defeating the Lord of the Underworld and saving the world would be a very good memory," said Amiboshi serenely.

A shriek from the front of the cave reached their ears.

"We have to hurry," said Amiboshi.

"Wait."

The voice was silvery, light and airy. It came from the jar on the floor lying next to Kaen's arm. As Suboshi watched, the white cloud inside seemed to condense, materializing into a ghostlike replica of a woman he recognized.

"I can help," said Soi quietly.

-v-

In all her life Miaka could not remember feeling so furious or desperate. Not when Seiryuu had devoured Yui, not when she'd been confronted by Tenkou before the fire at her house in Eiyou – not even after she'd realized she'd been tricked at Hokkan.

"_Stop _it," she told Nakago. "Stop it – whatever you're doing – I beg you – please –"

Nakago ignored her.

That was the worst of it – Miaka knew that her words were having no effect whatsoever on what Nakago was doing. And she could have no physical effect against his chi, since she didn't have any left to begin with. If only she hadn't been stupid enough to fall into Tenkou's trap in the first place!

And, to make matters worse, Yurien was crying. She was still suspended in the air by Nakago's chi. There was no mark or sign on her – but something must have happened, because she had just _screamed_ as though she was being horribly tortured –

"She won't suffer any _permanent_ physical harm right now," said the monster in Nakago's body, and the malicious pleasure in his voice made Miaka want to vomit. "We'll save that for later."

"NAKAGO!" shouted a voice from the back of the cave.

Nakago turned.

-v-

"Were you just trying to attract his attention, or do we actually have a plan?" Amiboshi asked pleasantly. He shook off the last of the ropes that had bound them and turned toward Suboshi.

Suboshi looked down and picked up the nearest weapon-shaped object, which happened to be the sword of Suzaku. "Now we have a plan," he said.

-v-

Nakago was not impressed.

It took only a quick assessment of posture to see that the hand holding the sword of Konan was not Suboshi's dominant one. The boy's injured right hand hung limply and uselessly by his side.

With amusement, Nakago allowed Suboshi to lunge forward. Nakago easily sidestepped the attack. Momentum carried Suboshi an extra couple of feet, and then he caught himself and spun on his heel, sword raised.

"Bad posture, sloppy footwork, and a terrible grip." Nakago turned, a ball of blue chi already appearing in his right hand. "A shame that your right hand is injured, for your left is obviously no use to you in battle. Perhaps when he returns, I shall recommend that Tenkou remove it entirely."

The ball of chi Nakago sent at Suboshi launched him across the cave and sent the sword of Konan spiraling through the air. Suboshi yelled with pain as he landed on his injured right hand. The sword skittered across the floor of the cave to land somewhere between Miaka and Amiboshi.

Miaka ran towards the sword. Amiboshi, who had been watching his brother's failed attack with horrified fascination, cried out and hurled a rock in Nakago's direction. Nakago raised a hand again, and the rock was instantly vaporized.

"Did you think to attack me as well?" Nakago cast a cold glance toward the flute that hung, uselessly at Amiboshi's side. "I suppose it _would_ be hard to play a flute without the use of both hands. As difficult as it would be –" His attention shifted to Miaka, who had just picked up the sword of Suzaku and was trying, with difficulty, to lift it. "– to wield a sword when one has never learned to use one."

Miaka cried out as she found herself sailing backward, the sword of Suzaku flying uselessly from her grasp. She hit the wall hard and collapsed to the floor, The sound of Nakago's laughter echoed off the walls.

He stepped forward slowly, advancing on Kaen and Amiboshi, malice in his eyes.

"Do you actually think you can _win_, any of you? Even if you escape this cave, what then? Tenkou waits outside. Soon he will control the entire world."

-v-

"Kaen!"

Soi's voice was thready and thin behind the glass of the bottle that trapped her. Nonetheless, it held a note of deep urgency. The sound invaded Kaen's mind like an unwelcome summons.

"You have to set me free," Soi hissed. "Smash the bottle and release me. _Please_ do this, Kaen. For all our sakes!"

Kaen crouched, trembling on the stones of the cave. With both hands, she clutched the bottle before her. She blinked her red-rimmed eyes and stifled a sob, and then she whispered:

"I've already told you, I _won't _ release you! I won't do it – I _can't_ – you'll just enter my mind again and take over, and I won't let you – not _again_ –"

"I won't," said Soi from inside the bottle. "I swear it."

"Kaen?"

Amiboshi's voice held a note of alarm. Nakago was striding towards the corner where both of them stood. Kaen could hear the harsh sound of his boots against the stone. She could almost feel the vibrations of Nakago's footsteps through the rock.

"_Do it!_" Soi's voice was almost a shriek.

Kaen closed her eyes and smashed the glass bottle against the ground.

-v-

Suboshi felt as though he had been pummeled with a houseful of bricks. A blow from Nakago's chi had a way of doing that to a person. His wrist throbbed dully; he thought he might have blacked out momentarily from the pain of landing on his already-injured appendage earlier.

"Are you still alive?" Yurien was floating somewhere above him, staring down at him with concern. For an instant he thought they had both died, and she had morphed into some sort of floating angelic being; then he realized that they both were still in Tenkou's cave and that Yurien was simply suspended in the air by Nakago's chi.

"Of course I'm still alive," Suboshi half-hissed, half-whispered, struggling to his knees.

_Though it's hard to tell based on the way I feel. _

Blearily, Suboshi's gaze traveled to the opposite side of the cave. The Suzaku no miko lay against the opposite wall. She looked battered and bruised, but she was moving, wincing as she picked herself up off the jagged rocks. Suboshi's gaze turned toward the other side of the cave, and his stomach sank. Nakago was slowly advancing on Amiboshi and Kaen.

Hardly comprehending, Suboshi watched as a white shape materialized in front of his brother and fellow Seiryuu seishi and place itself in between Nakago and the others. Confused, Suboshi watched the silvery shape glide forward to merge with Nakago. Suboshi saw Nakago stop, an almost puzzled expression crossing his face for a moment.

Suboshi had a sudden moment of insight, that the silvery shape had probably been Soi (or her soul, or whatever it was that Tenkou had placed inside that bottle), that Soi's ghost was probably doing something to buy them time – and then Suboshi's gaze shifted to Amiboshi, who was watching Nakago intently. _Idiot,_ Suboshi thought, _the sword of Konan is right next to you! Pick it up, and drive it through Nakago's heart while he's distracted._

Suboshi struggled forward, but his injured wrist struck the stones, and for a moment he was so blindingly dizzy, he almost passed out. He caught himself against the rocks, breathing hard.

He could hear Amiboshi's voice, as though it was right in his ear. _I need your help, Suboshi_, his brother was saying. _I'm not really sure what to do right now. _

"I know, you idiot; I'm coming, just give me a –"

Yurien was staring at him.

Suboshi broke off. Eyes widening, he stared at Amiboshi across the cave. His brother stared back at him hopefully.

The connection, the connection that allowed him to communicate with Amiboshi, the connection he had not even known he was missing – suddenly it was as if a piece of puzzle Suboshi did not even know he had been missing had been effortlessly fitted back into his heart, as though he were somehow, once again, _whole –_

_Believe me, _said his brother wryly, _I'm just as surprised as you are. I need your help, though, Suboshi. It's the sword, I want to throw it. But I don't have the power to do it alone. Can you –_

_Yes, _said Suboshi, almost joyfully, _ Yes –_

And for a moment, Suboshi was standing on the opposite side of the cave – he _was _Amiboshi, lifting his arm up to heft the heavy yet now-familiar weight of the sword of Konan. He was Amiboshi, reaching his arm back to throw the weapon with all his might – and then he was the weapon, too, shooting through the air. He was manipulating the sword in his mind with expert skill, helping it break through the blue barrier that sprang up around Nakago, guiding it – _keep going, keep going_ – to its final destination: Nakago's heart.

-v-

From her side of the cave, Miaka watched.

She watched Nakago shake himself free of the temporary bewilderment that had overtaken him upon his contact with Soi and start toward Amiboshi again. She watched as Amiboshi raised the sword of Suzaku and flung it at Nakago with surprising grace and skill. She saw Nakago hold up a hand to block the sword, almost lazily, with a wall of blue chi. Had the weapon been any regular sword, Nakago's chi would have stopped it in place; but this was a holy sword, the sword of Suzaku. Its encounter with Nakago's chi shield slowed it for an instant, but then it continued on its course, cutting through the wall of chi like a ship slicing through water.

Miaka saw Nakago's eyes widen. At the last minute, she looked away, but she could not block out the sound the sword made as it struck: the soft whump of metal meeting flesh and burying itself to the hilt in Nakago's heart. Her eyes flew up again. Miaka saw Nakago fall, arcing downward almost gracefully. He hit the ground and lay still.

Miaka heard a yell from the other side of the cave and saw Yurien tumble from the air as the chi that had been holding her evaporated. Suboshi jumped forward and caught the little girl before she hit the ground.

It was really over then. Nakago was truly defeated.

Miaka felt something wet touch her cheek. She dashed the back of her hand against her eyes, but they were blurring anyway.

Slowly, she approached Nakago. His eyes were half-shut, his breathing very shallow. Halfway there, Miaka stepped in something sticky. She swallowed as she saw the blood pooling from the hole in his chest.

"Nakago?" she whispered.

His eyes flickered shut.

_What, no last words even? _Miaka sank to the ground, ignoring the pools of blood that surrounded them. "Damn you, Tenkou," she whispered. "I'll hate you forever for this."

She bit her lip, about to turn away, to give in to her grief fully – and then paused.

The sword in Nakago's chest was _glowing_.

A soft reddish light was radiating from the hilt, almost like the glow of a traffic signal; it bathed Miaka's hands and Nakago's body. Miaka's eyes whipped toward Nakago. As she watched, his chest rose and fell, so subtly the movement was almost invisible. The sword pulsed gently.

Slowly, tentatively, Miaka put a hand on the glowing sword hilt. She felt odd, as though the sword was tugging on her.

Without warning, the edges of her vision went black.

-v-

Kaen saw Miaka's hand touch the sword. She saw the girl sway, blinking. Then – without warning – Miaka slumped on top of Nakago, apparently unconscious.

_Should I help them? _Kaen bit her lip, struggling with a moment of indecision. In the end, the pain in her head – courtesy of her earlier blow from Nakago – overpowered any desire to move and help the others.

Crouched behind a rock outcropping, Kaen watched Suboshi and Yurien approach the still forms of Nakago and the Suzaku no miko. Miaka's hand was still on the sword that lay embedded in Nakago's chest; her entire body glowed with an eerie, almost otherworldly light. Suboshi moved to touch her, but Amiboshi said, "Don't touch them!" and Suboshi backed away warily.

"Kaen."

Kaen swallowed and looked up. Soi looked almost exactly as she had inside the bottle, her features ghostly, vague, ethereal. But she was no longer contained by the bottle; the remains of her prison lay in shards near Kaen's knees. Distantly, through her terror, Kaen realized that she could see the staggering form of Amiboshi through Soi's chest.

Soi smiled sadly and reached forward, as though to touch Kaen, but Kaen recoiled, shoving herself backward until her back was flush against the wall. An almost pained expression crossed Soi's face for a moment.

"I'm here to wish you goodbye," she said quietly. "I hope you find happiness in your life, Kaen."

And, to Kaen's utter surprise, Soi turned and began to glide away. It was strange, but Soi seemed to grow dimmer as Kaen watched, her figure fading, until Kaen almost could not make out her outline against the opposite wall any longer –

"W-wait!"

Kaen watched the woman turn, saw some of her features solidify once again. "Where are you going?" Kaen asked her.

The ghostly woman smiled, a little sadly. "A soul cannot survive long without a body. And your body is only big enough for one soul, Kaen."

"Then –" Kaen gulped. _She's going to die. _"Can I ask you something?" Kaen said. "Before you go, I mean."

"Ask."

"That night in the cave." Kaen swallowed. "You promised me you would leave me my body, that you wouldn't interfere any longer in my affairs – and then you broke your promise."

"Sometimes," Soi said in a low voice, "when you care about a person, the terms of a promise become more… open to interpretation."

"Why? Does Nakago really matter more to you than anything else in the world?" _How can you _love_ him?_

"Nakago?" Soi laughed and then sighed. "No, not Nakago."

"Then –"

"You, Kaen. _You_ were the one I was trying to protect. Nakago no longer needs my protection. Nakago… has a new protector now."

Kaen followed Soi's gaze to where Miaka and Nakago lay prone upon the cave floor. Amiboshi stood beside them, but he seemed reluctant to interrupt whatever was going on.

"I wanted to place you in a position of safety," Soi explained, "regardless of the outcome of the final battle, which appeared wildly uncertain, so I allowed you to become Tenkou's follower. I indulged you, allowed you to set the fire, to use my power to cause the storm. But as I grew to understand Tenkou better, I realized that a world ruled by Tenkou would be a hideous thing. You saw what he did to Miaka, to Nakago, to Amiboshi and Suboshi. I cannot believe you were not horrified by it. _That_ is why I stepped in last night, to try to kill Nakago before the kudoku took hold."

Kaen swallowed. Soi's last words seemed to reach Kaen as though from a great distance. Soi was walking away from her, growing dimmer and dimmer with each passing moment. And Kaen suddenly felt a great sadness fill her.

"Wait!" she said desperately.

Soi turned.

"Don't go," Kaen whispered.

* * *

**Author's note: **Hey there, guys. It's been awhile. Guess that's med school for you. Anyway, a very Merry (slightly belated) Christmas to all! I'll do my best to post the remaining chapters within the next two weeks, before I have to return to school. I'll also try to post answers to questions in the next chappie – just wanted to get this one out.

Review! Even if it's just "What the bloody hell was THAT?"

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Anything you recognize is the property of Yuu Watase.


	60. The Dark Lake

**...**

**LX**

**The Dark Lake**

**...**

Miaka was wandering through a strange dark forest. The trees were bare, as though it was deep winter; Miaka looked up and saw that the sky was occluded with thick, black clouds. It was cold, colder even than it had been at sea, when there had been nothing separating Miaka from the dark waters except for the makeshift raft. Icicles clung to the thorn bushes and clattered when Miaka brushed against them. Her breath misted in the frigid air. Miaka folded her arms against her body, hugging herself for warmth.

A single path stretched before her. The path wound and twisted so tortuously that Miaka almost lost it a few times. It was overgrown with thorns, roots, and grasping vines, and Miaka was soon cut and bleeding from a multitude of small wounds. She lost count of the number of times she had to stop in order to catch her breath. Each time, it became harder to force herself to move again. _But I have to keep moving, _she thought. _If I stop now, I'll freeze to death._

Gradually, Miaka realized that there was a prickle of light ahead of her. The light shimmered, almost ethereal, and for a few minutes, Miaka wondered if it might be a construct of her tired imagination. But the light grew brighter as she walked, and Miaka suddenly realized it was real.

Ahead of her was a lake cradled in a small valley, an almost-replica of the lake outside the cave. The trees surrounding the lake were dead. The mountain ridge that flanked the lake to the east rose up above the water, tall and imposing.

It looked pretty much the way the lake looked now, after the desolation of Tenkou.

The light Miaka had seen earlier was emanating from an ice wall, as tall as a house, that was set in the side of one of the eastern crags on the shore of the lake. Now Miaka knew why it had looked so ethereal from the forest; the ice seemed to be catching and reflecting the light around it, and it shimmered as Miaka drew closer. And as she came to a place where she could actually observe the ice wall clearly, she saw that there was something inside the ice. A person.

"You should not be here," Nakago said tiredly.

Miaka thought he had never looked worse. He was so deathly pale that his skin was almost translucent. She thought she saw surprise momentarily cross his features as she stepped forward. But then that emotion was replaced with the same blank, apathetic mask to which Miaka had grown accustomed.

"Why are you here, Suzaku no miko?" he asked tiredly. "Are you so absurdly stubborn that you would follow me into death?"

Miaka's heart pounded. _Death? Is that where we are – are we dead? No, that can't be true – not yet! Nakago was still alive when I passed out on top of him –_

"You're not going to die!" she told Nakago sharply.

Even as she spoke, a shadow seemed to detach itself from the nearby forest. Even years later, Miaka was never able to describe the being in detail; all she knew was that it was tall and blacker than the parts of the night sky in between all the stars. Miaka swallowed, horrified, as the creature reached a long-fingered hand forward, beckoning.

**_Come_**_, _said Death.

"No!" Miaka yelled, placing herself between the shadow and Nakago. "You can't have him yet. He's _mine_."

She _glared_ Death in the face, daring him to take a single step closer. She drew herself up tall, acutely, _painfully_ aware of her lack of powers. Her heart was pounding in her chest, reminding her that _she_ was still alive, reminding her of all she had to lose.

Death paused. Then he _nodded_, a cold and terrible nod – and retreated, melting back into the forest from which he had appeared. For what felt like a long time (although it might have been only seconds), Miaka stared across the lake, into the tangle of thorns into which he had disappeared, trying to convince herself that the specter was gone.

Miaka turned back to Nakago, who was still watching her with an impassive look, as though she hadn't just fought off the creature that was sent to bring his body to the next life. "Why have you come down here?"

"I saved your life once, but you've saved my life three times since then," said Miaka reasonably. "That means I still owe you big time." She circled the ice cage, noticing how dark, writhing creatures seemed to be prowling around the edges. She didn't have much time.

_I need power,_ Miaka thought.

She needed power like she'd never needed it before; she didn't have any of her own, because Tenkou had stolen all of hers, but it didn't have to be _her_ power.

_Gods! Taiitsukun! Somebody! Anybody! Help me out here. _Miaka's hands balled into fists. _Seiryuu! Get over here._

Miaka bit her lip. It was hard to tell, but she thought she felt something brush the edge of her senses, as though somebody was listening to her.

_It's your fault he's like this now, Seiryuu!_ she continued. _You failed most of your seishi, but you failed Nakago most of all._

**_And _****how****_ did I do that?_**

Miaka flinched. She hadn't actually expected Seiryuu to respond. But she was angry now, and when Miaka got angry, she didn't really care whether she was talking to a god, her seishi, or her brother; she let whoever-it-was have it and dealt with the consequences later. So she clenched her fists and snarled mentally:

_By making him the most hated person in all of Kutou. By giving him powers that he couldn't control as a little boy so that he killed his mother, and putting him on the road to a path for vengeance for the death of his tribe. And don't try to excuse yourself. I've SEEN the version of Ayuru that grew up without his powers and I know how it compares to YOUR Nakago._

**_And I suppose you want me to make it better by loaning you magic to fix the weak, pathetic thing that he's become after exposure to the kudoku? _**Seiryuu let out a faint tsking sound. **_Unfortunately, much as I would _****love****_ to help you out, it so happens that someone has placed a rather irksome _****seal****_ on me that prevents me from doing anything –_**

_That's bull! _Miaka seethed._ Nakago said your seal was weakened, how else would he have been able to use his powers –_

**_– But I will patch you over to certain friends of yours up here who might be in a better place to help you. _**Miaka had the distinct sense that Seiryuu was laughing at her.

The next second, Miaka felt power flood her system – **_Temporary use only,_** Seiryuu said. Wondering who she had to thank for the loan, Miaka turned back to the _real_ problem at hand.

"Nakago?"

Miaka stared into Nakago's cold blue eyes and felt her resolve slip a little. He was so distant, so emotionless – it was as though he had already given up, and that frightened her. "I think I can get you free," Miaka said, her voice wavering a little. "But you have to trust me."

_Please, _she thought. _Please let this work._

– and she pressed her body against the ice that encased him, wrapping her arms around the ice that divided him from the entire world. It felt like slivers of ice were driving towards her heart, making her bleed in places she didn't want to think about. It was freezing, so cold she should have been numb. She thought of warmth, of fire, and the pain eased. That was what was needed, fire to burn away the all-consuming ice.

And water was currently running down and around and over her bare arms in rivulets, soaking her tunic and dripping upon the dry ground. The ice fought back, but Miaka pressed herself closer toward it, even as it continued to burn her skin with cold.

It happened suddenly; Miaka heard a shattering, felt a thousand tiny shards rain down around her. Suddenly another force had joined her own; their powers merged, mixing with each other – Miaka felt the power exploding outward in a wave, transmuting everything in its path.

-v-

He had been surprised at her presence (in a dull, tired sort of way). When she had defied Death for him, his surprise had flickered into existence once again, accompanied by a strange emotion. It might have been pride.

"I saved your life once, but you've saved my life three times since then. That means I still owe you big time."

_You owe me nothing. _His lips were numb, though, and talking was such an effort. The miko shouldn't have come. The kudoku had eaten away at him from the inside, until he was not able to struggle anymore, until all that remained was this tiny part of his heart, encased in ice, unable to feel. _You're wasting your efforts, miko. Tenkou has won._

"I think I can get you free." She was terrified, but so valiantly trying to hide it. Nakago blinked, the ice on his eyelashes making them heavy. "You have to trust me."

_You have to trust me._

_… trust me._

The words echoed in his head; even as the miko she pressed herself against the ice.

Trust. Was that really so difficult?

He supposed he did trust her, in an odd sort of indescribable way. She was in possession of some of his deepest secrets, secrets he had told to no one else.

Some part of him was shattering. It had been slowly fracturing for a long time, little by little, by stages – during the fight with Tomo, when she had as good as said that his past actions didn't matter – after the fire at her house, when she had sobbed into his chest – on the ship, when she had argued with him and tried to force him to eat – on the raft, when he had pressed a hypothermic miko against him to save her from the cold. Now, as he stared at the girl who was so determinedly trying to melt the ice that encased him, he felt the final shields around his heart give way. As the protective barriers shattered, his power joined with Miaka's, spiraling outward, to blast away the darkness and evil and corruption that the kudoku had placed in his heart.

-v-

They were in a field of star-shaped flowers by the shore of a brilliant blue lake. Miaka blinked her eyes and shifted to stare at the golden-haired man beside her. He looked somehow both younger and older than the Nakago she remembered.

"Hullo, Nakago." Miaka hesitated, suddenly uncertain. The man in front of her looked somehow different from the man she had traveled with – lighter, in some indefinable way. "Or should I call you Ayuru?"

"I am Ayuru," said the man, tilting his head thoughtfully, "but I am also Nakago. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

"For a long time after the worlds merged, Ayuru was lost, buried deep beneath Nakago, who was practically incapable of human feeling. You brought Ayuru back to the surface again."

I_ did that?_ Miaka thought.

She supposed she should take advantage of this moment; this was probably as much of a thanks as she was ever going to get. She doubted the man in front of her would be talking so candidly were they not in this strange place that seemed to be Nakago-Ayuru's heart. Nonetheless, she felt a strange sense of peace settle over her.

"And the kudoku is gone! Isn't it?" She stared around at the lush greenery that had, minutes before, been a forest of thorns. She couldn't sense evil anywhere, but that was no surprise; the power that had filled her temporarily had faded almost as quickly as it had come; she wondered who she had to thank for it.

"Yes, I think we have successfully dealt with the kudoku," said Nakago-Ayuru sardonically. "Come," he said. He turned, obviously expecting her to follow him. "We should start heading back."

Miaka shook her head, unsure whether to smile or sigh. Now he sounded more like the man she knew. "Back?" she repeated.

He raised an eyebrow. "Back to the real world. The four gods won't summon themselves, you know."

She had almost forgotten. Miaka sighed. "And here I was thinking that I might get a moment of rest and relaxation, for a change."

She joined him and together they set off down the path by which Miaka had entered. Instead of thorn bushes, it was now surrounded by pine trees. "If you don't mind," Miaka said eventually, "I'm going to keep on calling you Nakago. It's too confusing otherwise."

"Yes," said Nakago. His eyes glinted wickedly. "I can see why someone of your mental capacities might find the concept difficult to grasp."

She glared at him. "Good to know that this ordeal hasn't stopped you from being a world-class bastard. Now what are we going to do about Tenkou?"

"What indeed? Suboshi has rejoined us, so we have all four artifacts now. As a matter of fact, the sword of Suzaku is currently stuck in my chest –"

"What?" Miaka yelped. "Still? That can't be healthy!" She quickened her pace. "Are you sure you're alive?"

"You fought off Death, remember? I'm surprised that glare of yours didn't turn the poor specter to stone."

"Not funny." Miaka felt cold just thinking about that moment. Someday, she would think through the implications of what had happened, but not now. She changed the subject as fast as she could. "Nakago, did you know that Tenkou was originally from my world?"

_That_ got his attention. He glanced at her. "I had suspicions," he said. "But are you sure?"

"One hundred percent," said Miaka. "He's been here a very long time, of course. I still don't know what it means, but Yui seemed pretty sure when she told me. We've been sharing dreams, and she must've found disappearing person records from my world, or something –" (Unsurprisingly, the notion that The Book was a sentient entity capable of providing such information did not cross Miaka's mind.) "She said Taiitsukun was originally from my world, too."

"I see," said Nakago.

They had reached the end of the path leading out of the forest. Miaka could not help but stare at the seemingly endless green fields that surrounded them. "Now what?" she asked Nakago.

"Now," said Nakago, "we go up."

Miaka suddenly realized that a shiny metal ramp was in front of them. How had she not seen it before? The ramp was bright and looked almost as though it was made of steel.

It took Miaka a moment to realize that they were climbing up the edge of the sword of Hong-Nan. Which was apparently still embedded in Nakago's heart.

"_Definitely_ not healthy!" Miaka said, shuddering, as she jogged to keep up with Nakago's quick strides.

-v-

The world outside Nakago's heart was so bleak that Miaka spent a few bewildered seconds wishing that she could return to the dappled forest with the gently running water that they had just left. This uncharitable feeling quickly vanished as a trembling Yurien flung her arms around Miaka's midsection.

_"Onee-chan!"_

"Hey now, don't cry." Miaka hugged Yurien, burying her face in the little girl's hair. "I'm just fine, see?"

"I thought you were dead! Like the others!"

_The others?_ "Where is the rest of your family, Yurien?" _Why are you here alone?_

But Yurien continued to sob. Miaka felt her stomach sink and resolved to ask Suboshi what he knew. But that would have to happen later. "It's ok," Miaka said. "We both survived. And you – you were really, really brave."

"I was scared," said Yurien, and she cast a doubtful look toward Nakago.

"He won't hurt you anymore," said Miaka soothingly. "The drug that turned him evil has worn off now, and – HEY!"

Miaka threw a hand up to cover Yurien's eyes and sent a horrified glare toward Nakago as, in a fluid motion, he calmly pulled the sword of Suzaku out of his ribcage. "_What the hell–!_" the hey began going up. ot the most efficient way in here. I can show you." though she was still determinedly not meeting

"I wouldn't speak so loudly about hell; we _are_ only meters from its entrance, if you recall," said Nakago, looking thoroughly unperturbed despite the fact that he was holding aloft three feet of metal that had been hilt-deep in his chest seconds earlier. "And I can see that you'll make an excellent healer; you react so _calmly_ to unanticipated events."

The ground and his shirt were still red with blood, but Nakago seemed to be back to his old self once again. He examined his chest, almost casually, as though looking for some sign of a wound, but the gap in his chest appeared to have healed completely. Miaka was torn between sighing and smiling, and – after reassuring herself that Yurien wasn't scarred for life – she ended up doing a little of both.

Miaka's smile faded, though, when she saw the broken bottle that had housed Soi's soul earlier. "Is Soi –"

"She's dead," Kaen said, gazing pensively at the stone floor of the cave. "She told me a soul can't survive long without a body to house it."

Miaka nodded, feeling a tightness in her throat. They would mourn the loss of Soi later – just like she would think about Yurien, and about her close brush with Death at a later time. For now, they still had to escape, summon the gods, and defeat Tenkou, and she still had no powers –

She felt her lack of powers most keenly when she examined the injuries Amiboshi and Suboshi had sustained at Tenkou's hands. There was nothing that could be done about their wrists for now except to set them and bind them up in makeshift splints. Even with the three of them working, this took awhile. Nakago was the only one of the three who had any experience setting bones, and it took a long time to locate anything in the sparse cave that was remotely serviceable as a splint. In the end, they had to resort to using the sheath to one of Nakago's daggers and Amiboshi's flute – hardly ideal, but desperate times –

"… call for desperate measures!" said Miaka, putting the finishing touches on Amiboshi's bandage.

"I hope my flute agrees with that sentiment." Gingerly, Amiboshi, touched his wrist. He had not been too keen on this alternate use for his flute, and it was only with a great deal of persuasion (and an irritated "Seiryuu's balls, do you ever want to play that stupid instrument again or not?" from Suboshi) that Amiboshi had been prevailed upon to hand over his flute for this purpose.

"What now?" Amiboshi asked the others.

Miaka touched her neck, around which the necklace of Hokkan hung once more. If Genbu's necklace had been keeping Tenkou out of her mind, there was no way she was taking it off anytime soon.

"It's already been over an hour since Tenkou left this cave," she said worriedly. "We need to find the others so we can summon the gods." How she was going to do this without any powers Miaka had no idea, but it seemed the only reasonable course of action right now. She repeated what they had to do, trying to convince herself that it would be easy. "Gather the objects of the four gods together, and find Nuriko and Subaru and Tasuki –"

"Provided they're still alive," said Suboshi sourly. His euphoria at defeating Nakago and renewing his connection with Amiboshi had worn off amidst the piercing pains shooting up his arm; he was gray-faced and inclined to be short with anyone nearby.

Nakago paused in the act of picking something up off the ground. "They are not far from here," he said, ignoring Suboshi's noisome snort. He paused, an almost distant look entering his eyes for a moment. "If I had to make an educated guess, I would assume they were somewhere inside the mountain."

"There's a secret passage," said Kaen, who seemed to have decided to help them, although she was still determinedly not meeting either Nakago's or Miaka's eyes. "It's how I brought Suboshi in earlier. Follow me."

They began to walk.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I own nothing. Anything you recognize is the property of Yuu Watase.


	61. The Four Gods

**...**

**LXI**

**The Four Gods**

**...**

The passage was long, dark, and twisting – a little like the path that Miaka had followed through Nakago's heart before it had been rid of the kudoku. Even with Kaen walking ahead, a lantern in her hand, it was hard to see. Several times, Miaka held up a hand, ready to light the way herself, before remembering abruptly that her powers were gone.

She might have asked Nakago to use his powers to shed some more light on the passage – except Nakago seemed to be occupied already. He had Tomo's _shin_ open in his palm, and he was regarding something inside it with a kind of cool interest. A couple of times, Miaka tried to sneak a peek at whatever Nakago was watching, but it was hopeless – the ground was uneven, and Miaka's inattention to the surroundings inevitably led her to stumble before she saw whatever it was that held Nakago so enthralled. The third time she fell, Yurien gasped and clung to her worriedly, refusing to let go until Miaka reassured her that yes, she was perfectly all right, and no, she was not dying, she was just a little bruised, thank-you-very-much.

She kept her eyes on the ground after that.

Which was why she alone had the misfortune to crash into Amiboshi's outstretched arm when he flung it out suddenly, blocking them from moving any further.

"Ow," Miaka muttered, rubbing her bruised chest.

"Shhh," said Amiboshi. "I think I heard something. Up ahead."

The six of them listened intently. Or rather, Amiboshi and Suboshi listened intently; Nakago continued to study the _shin_; Kaen clung to the lantern; Yurien clung to Miaka; and Miaka rubbed her still-smarting collarbone.

"There's definitely somebody up there," said Suboshi.

"I'd say several someones," said Amiboshi. "But they don't seem to be –_ Suboshi!_"

Suboshi was already striding forward, clearly not listening; Miaka heard him stumble blindly out in front of them. "Hey!" he yelled. The sound echoed off the rock. "Come out! Stop lurking, whoever you are!"

Amiboshi sighed and hurried forward too. Miaka, who had already tried to sense demonic energy – only to realize (again) that her powers were gone – glanced at Nakago, wondering if he had some insight regarding the identity of the party ahead. Then she realized he was not even paying attention to the proceedings, but staring intently into the _shin._

"What are you looking at?" she asked him.

As if her words had roused him from some reverie, Nakago shot her a quick glance and shut the clamshell with a soft snap. "Confirming a couple of your earlier statements." When she frowned, uncomprehending, Nakago added: "I'll explain later. You might want to greet your remaining seishi; Suboshi's yelling seems to have frightened them."

"My other – _oh!_"

Miaka hurried forward, brushing past Amiboshi, who tried to hold her back. "Nuriko?" she said. "Tasuki? Are you there?"

"Is that you, Miaka?"

Miaka's heart leapt at the sound of Tasuki's familiar drawl. "You survived," she said. "We didn't know what had happened –"

She listened intently as Tasuki summarized the events that had transpired while Miaka was underground. "Tenkou's headed east?" she said. She recalled some of the things Tenkou had said and felt deeply unsettled "Isn't Mount Taikyoku in that general direction?"

"In theory," said Subaru. "Although Mount Taikyoku is supposedly impossible to find, unless you're pure of heart."

"'Supposedly_' _being the operative word," Nuriko muttered.

"How far are we from the exit to this passage?" Miaka asked, ignoring Nuriko.

"Not far. We've had a hard time getting through without a light."

"Good," said Miaka, starting forward. "We'll need to be beside the lake to summon the gods."

-v-

The valley outside the cave bore no resemblance to the beautiful lake that Miaka had just seen in Nakago's heart. Miaka could not stifle a small curse as she surveyed the now-treeless shoreline.

_Tenkou has ruined so many things. _The thought made her angry, and that anger gave her courage. But she still did not see how this task could be done.

Miaka stared at the roiling clouds above them and felt her spirits start to sink. She remembered the horrible, drained feeling that had overwhelmed her the last time she had summoned the gods. Could she summon them now, when her powers were all but gone? And at what cost?

Then she realized: _Cost doesn't matter. If I don't do this, we're all as good as dead._

"Come on," Miaka said aloud, in a steely, cold voice that caused some of the company to turn and look at her. "We need to summon the gods _quickly_, before Tenkou realizes I've escaped."

Nakago glanced at her. "Summoning the gods will not be possible without your powers, miko," he said quietly.

Miaka frowned. She had been worried about this, too. She remembered the last summoning ceremony in excruciating detail. It had taken every ounce of her strength just to summon Suzaku, and each of the three wishes had cost her energy. And that had been when she'd _had_ powers. She could not imagine summoning _four_ gods at once, with _no_ powers at all.

"Well, what –" she began.

But before she could finish her question, Amiboshi cut her off.

"Miaka doesn't need her powers," said Amiboshi. "She's got _us_. If we each transfer some of our power to her, all of us, that ought to be enough to summon the gods."

Miaka looked at Nakago.

Who said:

"That is one solution."

There was a slight pause between Amiboshi's comment and Nakago's reply that Miaka couldn't help but notice. As though this was not the solution Nakago had been thinking of. Because Nakago was not the sort of person who thought of teamwork first. Miaka started forward, about to ask Nakago what exactly he _had_ been thinking of.

But Nakago was already moving, reaching toward his belt to unsheathe a dagger concealed beneath his cloak. Before Miaka could open her mouth, he raised the weapon and – without even batting an eyelash – used it to make a shallow cut across his forearm.

Nakago tossed the blade to Tasuki*, who caught it with a sharp, _"What the hell?"_

"Your turn," Nakago said, not even looking at the bandit. To Miaka, he said: "If you were actually listening when Tenkou gave his description of possible methods of transferring power, you would know that one of the simplest methods of transferring power is along a liquid conduit."

"Isn't this somewhat _dark_?" Miaka asked, looking askance at the blood that was streaking Nakago's left forearm.

"The inclusion of blood doesn't make a ritual dark. What matters most is one's intent."

"Yeah," said Nuriko, "just like the time Tama and Hotohori gave you a blood transfusion." All the same, she eyed the dagger mournfully as Tasuki presented it to her. "Are you _sure_ there's no other way? Preferably one that doesn't involve a hideous scar across my arm? – Never mind. Perhaps I'll be able to impress Boushin with my war wounds." She passed Amiboshi the dagger and grinned. "Hey, Tasuki, you know what this means? Our blood on the dagger is mixed. So technically, we're all blood siblings now. _You and Nakago are –_"

"Nuriko, for the love of all that is holy, shut the hell up!" Miaka almost swore she could see Tasuki cringing. "Don't make this any worse than it has ta be."

"I agree," Nakago said, with a kind of cool blandness that made Tasuki reinforce the strength of his glaring. "Some horrors are better left unstated."

"So what happens now?" said Miaka, staring at the cut on Nakago's arm and feeling vaguely unsettled.

"This," said Nakago, and he pressed the bleeding wound against the scepter, which Miaka still grasped.

He had chosen this method because he had believed it would be the strongest means of transferring energy while still being consistent with the miko's sensibilities. She needed as much power as possible, to have any hope of succeeding in summoning the gods and making her wishes quickly. Summoning one god alone required significant amounts of _chi_. Nakago surmised that summoning four gods would be four times as difficult. And then there were the wishes – and each wish, as a rule, drained more power from the wisher –

Nakago saw the miko's eyes widen as he channeled power into her. He had to concentrate to do so. The seal on Seiryuu might have weakened, but parts of it were still in place, and that meant that Nakago's own chi – most of which was derived from Seiryuu – was harder to get a handle on than it would have been if Seiryuu were free.

Throughout it all, Miaka did not move, although at one point she grimaced, as though to pull away. "That was… odd," she said, when the transfer was over. "My arm feels all tingly. I think it worked, though. I feel… better." She smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Yes," he said, and he watched as the others followed suit with their own donations of chi, watched with his extra sense as well. It was interesting to see the priestess become a merged palette of color from the effects of everyone's combined distinct powers. When Nuriko, the last one to contribute, had finally finished, Miaka was glowing with a swirling mix of blues and reds and golds and greens.

"All right," Nuriko said, as she released her grip on the scepter. She glanced at the sky, which still roiled darkly. "Let's do this fast, before anything else happens."

Miaka nodded.

Her seishi stood in a square around her. In her hands, Miaka clutched the objects of power, all except for the necklace of Hokkan, which she wore about her neck. They were ready – all she had to do was open her mouth.

But Miaka still hesitated a little before beginning. She could not help but remember the last summoning, the failed attempt that had taken place not two weeks earlier. Miaka knew they had forgotten nothing this time – that this summoning ought to work –

So what was she waiting for?

Miaka thought she knew what she wanted. A sign, a signal, some hint from the gods that her life would go on after she had summoned them and made her wishes. It was _apprehension_ Miaka felt, apprehension at facing the gods, apprehension at the very real possibility that this time, she would end up being devoured. She had stopped Suzaku from eating her last time by sealing him, but she had no clever tricks up her sleeve this time to keep herself alive. If she did not have sufficient strength of will, the gods would surely eat her up, like Seiryuu had almost don with Yui , and Miaka would be dead – simply cease to exist, in either this world or her own. There would be no aftermath.

Unconsciously seeking reassurance, Miaka allowed her eyes to drift across her seishi. Tasuki, who was not part of the circle, nonetheless flashed her a grin from across the beach. Despite the lack of sun, his orange hair stood out like a street light as he took Yurien's hand and gently tugged her toward the mouth of the cave. Nuriko, whose own hair was spilling out from her braid in haphazard spikes, saw Miaka's eyes travel toward her and winked encouragingly. Miaka smiled.

She glanced at Nakago, who met her gaze steadily. Despite the circumstances, despite the need for haste, he looked completely, entirely calm. Watching him now, Miaka felt strangely, irrationally reassured.

Today might be her last day to live.

Better make it a day to remember then.

Miaka took a deep breath.

This time, as the words of the summoning spell flowed off her lips, they felt _right_ – they were not forced; Miaka did not feel as if some hidden power was holding her back. She could _feel _power building around her, gathering, building up to a crescendo. This was how it had felt to summon Suzaku – this was _right_ – they were all, finally gathered together, in the right place at the right time – a powerful synergy – and the words seemed to flow from her lips like water from a spillway. It was odd, the feeling of building power So now Miaka spoke without reservation, uttered the words with confidence; backed by power, the words of the summoning seemed to echo, to reverberate off the rocks, far louder than ought to have been physically possible.

**_I summon the four great gods. Suzaku, Byakko, Genbu, and Seiryuu, Guardians of the four corners of this world..._**

And when she had at last uttered the last phrase of the ceremony, (**_Descend to us from the heavens above!_**) a soft silence filled the air. Miaka closed her eyes and felt herself rising – felt the air around her growing paradoxically warmer. Then light filtered in through her closed lids – a soft radiance that seemed to come from all around her –

Miaka opened her eyes.

The four gods stood before her. They towered above her, enveloped in light, a glowing ensemble that filled her with wonder. For a moment, Miaka forgot her apprehension – completely lost track of her terror for what was to come. She felt only awe, the kind of amazement one associates with viewing a particularly radiant sunset, or the peak of the highest mountain in the world.

Genbu, in robes jade green like the depths of the ocean, stood the tallest. His black hair was swept back from his angular face, and his dark eyes studied Miaka with a wisdom that reminded Miaka of an old sage, despite the fact that the rest of Genbu's appearance was youthful.

Byakko was next. His fur mantle was a rich orange-brown, and the eyes in his tanned face were the color of sand in a desert. The hair beneath his headpiece was wild and untamed – as though a small animal routinely used it as a bedroom.

To his right stood Seiryuu. _He _was not glowing, but his eyes seemed to skewer her; they burnedin the god's pale face as he studied her with an odd mixture of curiosity and aloofness and – Miaka felt a resurgence of apprehension – hunger.

Then there was Suzaku.

Of the four gods, he looked the worst, and Miaka felt her heart clench a little as her eyes came to rest on him. His robes – which were once the color of carnations, or fire, or the red one sees in sunsets – had faded to a kind of dull crimson. His complexion was too fair to hide the signs of his exhaustion – and, if Suzaku had been an ordinary mortal, Miaka would have assumed that he had not slept for some time. Yet as his black eyes met hers, he appeared perfectly serene, if a little sad.

Miaka looked away.

"_You have summoned us,_"' said Genbu.

His voice was deep, a rumble like shifting rocks, stone on stone.

"Yes," Miaka whispered.

Tenkou had told Miaka that the gods only possessed a fraction of his power. He had implied that Miaka's strength was equal, in some way, to that of a god. Now, staring at the gods before her, Miaka wondered how this could possibly be true. She was no Nakago, who could sense chi with barely a thought, yet she could _feel_ the power radiating from Genbu and Byakko, the swirling _force _of their presence. She felt like bowing or curtsying or whatever one was supposed to do before a person of power. She settled for lowering her eyes.

"_Do you agree to merge with the four of us, in order that you may make use of our strength and become the vessel for our powers on earth?_"

Had it been another time, another place, the thought might have crossed Miaka's mind that Genbu's statement ought to be accompanied by some sort of disclaimer. "Warning: side effects may include severe bodily pain and possible death by predation; should not be attempted without strength of will or an ingenious backup plan; certain restrictions apply" might be appropriate. But now, face to face with the four gods, it didn't even occur to Miaka to give a smart answer.

"I agree," she whispered.

_"You may request of us three wishes."_

Miaka felt a sudden, familiar burning sensation in her chest and pressed a hand to her heart. She saw the four gods beginning to fade.

"Wait!" she called out, reaching out a hand toward the gods before they could send her back. "Wait – please –

"I made a mistake," she said, as they faded back into view again, "I messed up during the last summoning ceremony – and it almost lead to disaster. Tell me how I can defeat Tenkou. Please."

_"To defeat Tenkou, you must free the brothers of mine who you bound with your last wishes. You must make two separate wishes, so that each of my brothers may be unbound. Only when all four of us are free will we be able to reseal Tenkou."_

It was Byakko who spoke. His eyes might have held all the heat of a desert, but his voice was the sweet sound of wind in the depths of a jungle.

_"And even then, it will not be trivial." _Miaka jumped a little at the sound of Seiryuu's voice. Of all the gods, his voice was the harshest, but still it sounded grand, like waves breaking over a beach. _"You will need to cast your wishes quickly, little miko."_ he said. _"Tenkou has already sensed your completion of the summoning ceremony. At this very moment, he is returning to the lake." _

The words sent a thrill of foreboding into Miaka's gut. "I'll free you," she said, but she was already fading – the gods before her were growing dimmer and dimmer – and the words were lost amidst her transition back to earth.

She felt a sharp ache at seeing them go – at turning her back on these ethereal beings, so beautiful and strange.

It was only after she had reached the ground – after she had opened her eyes to find hard earth and her seishi around her once more – that Miaka realized she had not asked the gods the most important question of all:

How was she to make two wishes when she felt as though even one might be the death of her?

She had thought the pain of joining with Suzaku was bad, but it was nothing in comparison to the pain of summoning all four gods simultaneously. In her weakened state, the pain seemed amplified, magnified tenfold from what it had been during her last summoning ceremony. Miaka shuddered.

_I made the decision already, _she thought, _knowing full well that I might die in the attempt; I chose to do this, and I still have to try – I __**will**__ make these wishes –_

Still, Miaka needed to suck in a couple of deep breaths before she could continue. Nuriko started forward, looking concerned, but Miaka held out a hand to stop her.

She could _feel_ the four gods at the edges of her senses, intensely, _frighteningly_ powerful. Miaka wondered vaguely if it was possible that power attracted power much like matter did matter, because it was almost as if the remaining strength she had received from her seishi was being yanked away simply through the effort of maintaining her connection with the gods, sucked away as though she was in the vicinity of four black holes –

But she knew she had no time to be thinking of such things; she had to act fast; Seiryuu had said so. Even now, she could feel a darkness on the horizon that heralded Tenkou's approach. She knew, somehow, that Nakago had sensed it, too; perhaps it was the way his eyes narrowed. And so, ignoring Amiboshi's concerned, "Are you all right, Miaka?" and Nuriko's worried hiss, Miaka opened her mouth.

"Release Suzaku from his binds!" she shouted, and then:

"_Kaijin._"

-v-

Nakago saw the miko fall to her knees, gasping and clutching her chest. Her face was contorted in pain. He could feel the waves of ill health radiating off her; her emotions were a combination of terror and determination and what seemed to be annoyance at her own weakness. She was not beaten yet. Nakago's own body ached strangely, particularly his chest. In spite of this, he started forward, with the intent of providing the miko power.

But before he could get two paces, he felt a surge of dark power from somewhere nearby. A black figure swept forward, faster than any eye could track – so fast, that even the seishi closest to Miaka were given no time to react. The figure caught Miaka up, pulled her away from the others, and then materialized, some yards away.

"Hello," said Tenkou coldly.

-v-

*** NOTE: DO NOT TRY THE THING WITH THE DAGGER AT HOME. SERIOUSLY. AFTER TAKING A MICROBIOLOGY CLASS, I CAN SAY WITH SOME AUTHORITY THAT BLOOD-BORNE PATHOGENS ARE NASTY, NASTY BEASTS. Seishi just have amazing immune systems which allows them to do such things.**

**Author's note: **Double-update this time, since I really do want to finish this before break is over. I actually meant to post earlier than this, but it's the holidays, which is always a recipe for chaos around here.

It's good to know that there are still people reading this story! That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Anything you recognize is the property of Yuu Watase.

–v-

**Questions from you: **

**Is the med school thing new? If so, congratulations!**

Yes it is. Thanks!

**Yay for the update! I was worried that this story was going to be abandoned. **

Don't worry! I'm so close to finishing this story that to abandon it now would be almost criminal.

**Will there be more M & N moments before the conclusion?**

Yes, and there will also be an epilogue… eventually.


	62. Void

**…**

**LXII**

**Void**

**…**

**Recap from LVI: **

_Chiriko stared at the toddler in front of him, holding a sword that was too big for his ludicrously tiny hands. Boushin's eyes met his, and suddenly Chiriko knew. Boushin was only a mask, just like all the other humans that demons possessed were masks, just like that time in the Shijintenchisho when Chiriko had been a mask, when he'd been forced to do terrible things to all the friends he cared about. The opponent they faced was not Boushin, or the men and women and children that Chichiri and Kazuhiko and the others had fought in the districts surrounding the palace. It was not an invisible bloodthirsty monster with grasping clawed fingers, big as a mountaintop and strong as a tiger._

_It was something far worse. _

-v-

"Hello, Chiriko," Miboshi said sweetly with Boushin's small mouth, and he brought the blade down across Chiriko's neck.

Chiriko squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a whistling noise beside his right ear and felt something cold touch his neck.

_That's done it, _he thought, _my head's off._ And Chiriko waited for his head to fall to the ground. He wondered if he would be able to still see things, in the seconds before he died. Would he be able to look up at Boushin-Miboshi as his head rolled across the field? Perhaps he could take a nip out of Miboshi's sword arm on the way down.

But the sudden pain of a sword thrust never came. Instead, Chiriko heard a crash of metal on metal and felt someone drag him backward.

"Not so fast, you little creep."

Chriko's eyes flew open. Tokaki was standing in front of him. It was his sword that had produced the singing sound Chiriko had heard just now. He had placed his sword in between Boushin's and Chiriko's neck and deflected the killing blow.

_I'm not dead, _Chiriko thought. He felt a little dazed.

"You cannot win," said Miboshi coolly. He lowered the sword, as though bored. Tokaki lowered his blade too, looking frustrated. For a moment Chiriko wondered why Tokaki didn't just charge him.

_But of course he can't. He can't do that, or he might hurt Boushin. And Saihitei – _Chiriko snuck a glance toward the Emperor, whose face was like stone – _Saihitei wouldn't like that at all. _

"What do you want?" the Emperor asked grimly.

"Your kingdom, ultimately, but the boy would be a nice start."

"Never!" Chiriko didn't think he'd ever heard Mitsukake sound so outraged.

Miboshi shrugged. He waddled over to the sword he had just dropped, hefted it, and placed it against his – Boushin's – throat. "It's your choice."

Chiriko's stomach sank as he watched the spectacle. _So long as Miboshi is possessing Boushin, our hands are tied. Boushin's Miboshi's hostage, and Saihitei will never do anything while Miboshi's possessing Boushin _ –

Chiriko frowned. It was dawning on him, just what he had to do.

_I'm the only one who can stop Miboshi. _ _I've already done this. Died in another life and taken Miboshi with me. The others here know this routine. They may not like it, but they'll live with it. They'll have to._

"Wait!" Chiriko cried, before he could lose his nerve. He stepped forward, ducking beneath Mitsukake's restraining hand, ignoring Chichiri's sharp intake of breath and Tokaki's curse. "Let Boushin go, and possess me instead."

Miboshi's eyes were on him. Chiriko tucked his clammy hands inside his sleeves and continued in a high voice. "You think you're better than me! You think what happened last time we met was an accident. You're dying to know. That's why you didn't kill me just now." He leaned closer to Miboshi-Boushin. "Well, maybe it _was_ an accident! Maybe you _are_ actually stronger than me, and my victory over you was just a fluke. But the only way we'll actually be able to find out is by _testing_ it."

"Hmph," said Miboshi, "As if I would be so foolish –"

"Know what I think?" Chiriko's heart was thundering in his ears. He leaned even closer. "I think you're a c-coward. You were always afraid of death in the Shijintenchisho, that's why you turned yourself into a spirit – so that you would never have to leave the world. And now you're afraid that if you possess me now, you'll be sent back to wherever it is you came from. Because you s-secretly think that you will be overpowered by a little boy who doesn't even have any of his seishi powers left. You're pathetic."

Miboshi's eyes flickered.

The odd thing about demons is that no matter how old and strong they are, they cannot help but adopt some of the characteristics of the people they are possessing at the time. This can range anywhere from a slight preference for tenderloin steak to a significant carryover of raw emotions.

Boushin was the son of Saheiti and Nuriko, and if his genetics didn't predispose him to strong emotions, then nobody's did. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, Boushin heard the words 'coward' and 'pathetic'. He didn't really know what Chiriko was talking about, but he understood Chiriko's tone, and he knew he was being called something nasty. Things someone like his daddy would never stand for. Well, he was a big boy now and he didn't have to stand for them either. He was _not _pathetic, nor was he a coward! And he would pay Chiriko back for saying so!

Miboshi knew, of course that he was being tricked. He knew better than to meet Chiriko's challenge head-on – only a fool would fall for that sort of lame trick. But for a moment, Boushin's distress overrode him so strongly that before he knew what he was doing, Miboshi found himself _actually lurching out of Boushin's mind_ toward Chiriko.

_Coward – I am __**not**__ a coward – he actually dares –_

The momentary wave of emotion vanished as soon as it had begun, but the damage was already done. Miboshi heard a wail, looked back, and hissed with fury. The instant he had left the spoiled little prince, Boushin had been grabbed by Chichiri, who was stuffing something into his shirt. That protective flower, no doubt.

Chiriko was in front of him. He would make the child _pay_ for the loss of his bargaining piece.

It wasn't until Miboshi was trying to take up residence in Chiriko's head that Miboshi realized Chiriko was _also_ carrying _lanxing_. And that it stung much more than he'd previously thought.

Chiriko squeezed his eyes shut, but he could not block out the sound of Miboshi's shriek, coming from somewhere deep inside of his head, going on and on and on. He felt a moment of blinding pain, and then, without warning, the screaming vanished.

Chiriko opened his eyes again. His palms were bleeding from where his nails had dug into the skin, but other than that he seemed to be all right. Slowly, he touched his neck. His hands met petals.

_Oh. _He had forgotten about the protective flowers Shouka had given all of the seishi before their departure. He felt slightly silly, like someone who has resigned himself to a terminal illness, only to realize that what he thought was consumption was actually a mild cold. _I guess the others remembered, which is why they didn't try to stop me. _

Chiriko might have stood there all day had it not been for Mitsukake, who was already dragging him backward, away from the confused demon guards that had accompanied Miboshi. Mitsukake helped Chiriko into the saddle and mounted up behind him. The demon-soldiers, apparently disoriented by the loss of their leader, seemed to come to their senses as they tore away across the field; Chiriko heard a whistle of arrows, but they all went wide. He could see Chichiri ahead in the distance, galloping at an even more impressive pace.

"Where's Miboshi?" Chiriko asked shakily.

"No idea." Mitsukake looked extremely shaken. "Doubt he's dead though."

"No," said Chiriko, shivering. "And Boushin –"

"Up ahead with Chichiri – Chichiri got _lanxing_ around the kid's neck the second Miboshi tried to possess you. Let's get out of here!"

Chiriko couldn't have agreed more. The ground beneath them, he realized with a sudden, sick lurch, was rutted and stained. A battle had been fought on that ground earlier that week, and the winners clearly hadn't cleaned up after themselves very well. Chiriko saw the remains of old spears, horse carcasses that the flies hadn't picked clean yet, and the occasional body. He cringed.

They were halfway across the field when Mitsukake paused. Chiriko blinked and then realized what had caused him to stop.

A horn was blowing in the distance. Soon it was joined by other horns; they rose in symphony, like the howling of a wolf pack. Then Chiriko heard a rumbling noise. It sounded like approaching thunder. He looked toward the mountains.

A waterfall of horsemen were charging into the valley. At first, Chiriko thought they were demon soldiers. Chiriko experienced a brief moment of panic, before he heard Mitsukake yell over the rumble of pounding hooves:

"Sairou! Sairou has come to our aid!"

_Emperor Kazuhiko must have managed to get the message to his general in time after all,_ Chiriko thought, staring at the approaching army. He felt momentarily elated. Now that he looked, he could see the blue-and-gray banner that signified Sairou. There were a lot of men charging down the mountain. _This might give us enough force to defeat the demon army. _

But Chiriko's elation was short-lived. The Sairou soldiers were approaching rapidly – almost too rapidly – and Chiriko had a sudden, uncomfortable realization. He and Mitsukake were riding square in the middle of the valley that separated the foothills of the charging army from the demon horde.

Which meant that the charging army was headed _straight toward them at full speed. _

Apparently Mitsukake had realized this problem as well, for he had already spurred their mount into a gallop. Chiriko felt their horse – a gray mare – huff beneath them. Wind stung Chiriko's eyes, bringing tears to his cheeks. He could not remember ever riding so quickly in his life. They were fairly flying through the Takino valley across the fields that bordered Eiyou. The ground beneath them was a blur. They were traveling at such a speed that they might have actually outrun the approaching army and made it safely to the edge of the field without incident.

If it hadn't been for the earthquake.

Earthquakes have a habit of occurring unpredictably, often at highly inconvenient times. The earthquake that struck Eiyou a little before noon on the 7th day of battle was pretty mild as far as earthquakes went, but its epicenter was not far away, and it succeeded in opening up a few rifts in the valley, one of which was very near to the spot where Chiriko and Mitsukake were riding.

Unfortunately for the two riders nearing the edge of Takino valley, their mare was a skittish animal. The noise of the earthquake did not bother her – it was practically indistinguishable from the sounds of the galloping hooves that were practically on top of them. But the unexpected lurching of the ground, coupled with the sudden opening up of a considerable rift in the ground in front of her, sent the animal into a state of near panic.

She did what any reasonable horse might have done. She bucked, rearing up onto her hind legs.

Then she bolted across the field.

Chiriko barely had time to register the fact that a man-sized crack had just opened up in the valley in front of them. He found himself holding on for dear life to an out-of-control mount as they veered away from the city gates and charged toward the eastern ridge that bordered the valley. Chiriko squeezed his eyes shut as they flew over the torn-up field at lightning speed, past the remains of demolished battering-rams and dried-out corpses from battles that had been fought in the preceding week.

The mare finally began to slow as they neared the trees. Now that the rift was nowhere in sight, the animal forgot what had so terrified her so much a few minutes ago. She promptly commenced grazing, as though she had never for a second displayed any kind of behavior that could have suggested that she was unhinged.

Chiriko collapsed forward, resting his forehead against the horse's mane. For a few minutes, he could only gasp for air, great shuddering relieved gasps that caused the horse to flick its ears irritably. Then Chiriko turned in the saddle, about to congratulate Mitsukake on their near escape and ask what they were going to do next.

It was only then that Chiriko realized Mitsukake was no longer behind him.

Panicked, Chiriko twisted, staring behind him. Mitsukake was nowhere in sight.

_He must have fallen off back on the field, probably when the horse reared._ Chiriko gazed across the field, until he made out the black outline of the toolhouse-sized rift that the earthquake had created not far from the city gates. By now, the Sairou riders had passed that part of the valley and were charging the demon army. Chiriko spent a moment watching the crash of the initial charge before turning back to the matter at hand.

Chiriko didn't have much experience with horses. After a fair bit of effort, he was able to persuade his finicky mount to turn around and head back toward the place they had just left.

Chiriko's stomach sank as they approached the rift. His eyes traveled over the trampled ground, over the remains of old carts and weapons left over from battles fought earlier that week. The conclusion was inescapable. Mitsukake was nowhere in sight.

He called out the older man's name a couple times as he cantered over the earth, scanning the ground for signs of his friend. The noise of fighting farther down the field was his only response. With each call, Chiriko grew less hopeful.

He kicked the mare's flank, trying to encourage it to approach the rift. He had a terrified suspicion that Mitsukake had fallen into the crack in the earth when the horse had reared and bolted. The horse, which seemed to have retained a severe mistrust for the earthquake-induced gap in the ground, refused to budge, so Chiriko was forced to dismount and approach the rift on foot.

"Mitsukake?"

No answer.

Cautiously, Chiriko peered over the edge of the rift, preparing to scuttle backwards if the earth started shaking again.

What he saw caused him to flinch.

He had expected to see a small crevice in the ground, perhaps a few feet deep, into which a person might have fallen.

But to his horror, the walls of the rift appeared to descend infinitely downward. Chiriko choked back a faint sob of terror and forced himself to look, but try as he might, he could not see the bottom. It was like looking into a bottomless chasm. It was like looking into a void. Chiriko reached an arm over the edge.

It felt cold.

Chiriko was still very much a child in some ways. With regard to discipline and getting things done, he had often heard said that he had an adult's maturity. But he still had the imagination usually associated with someone much younger. The rift terrified him. He now understood why the first reaction of his horse had been to bolt. His first instinct, on seeing the rift in the earth, was to try to cover it up as fast as possible. It seemed to him that something awful could spring out of that darkness, some monster with claws and wings and nasty fangs, like the things that supposedly lurked in the underworld.

It took him a little while, but Chiriko was finally able to locate an abandoned tarp, which had probably once been part of a tent or a siege engine. With shaking hands, Chiriko tossed it across the edge of the void, trying not to think about the fact that it was stained with blood. He had to walk around the edge of the rift in order to secure it on the other side.

He sat down when he was finished, heart rate slowly returning to normal. It now seemed rather likely to Chiriko that, in addition to covering up the rift, he had probably also just covered up the site of Mitsukake's death.

Chiriko didn't like crying. Crying made him feel weak and helpless, like the child he tried not to be. But he couldn't suppress the tears that came now. They flowed freely down his face, and though he pressed his palms against his eyes, they didn't show any signs of stopping.

_Mitsukake. Dead. _

His horse whinnied irritably. It was obvious that she liked this place no more than he did. Throughout Chiriko's ordeal, as he had moved the tarp to cover the gap in the earth, the mare had stayed put, refusing to move within ten arms' lengths of the hole in the ground. Even now, with the rift covered up, the horse refused to come near.

It was the sound of the mare's worried neighs that finally convinced Chiriko to look up from his melancholic reverie. It didn't take him long to realize what was causing her distress.

Another party of soldiers was galloping across the valley, this time from the city gates. These men bore Konan colors. _Reinforcements from Eiyou, _Chiriko guessed. _ They must have ridden out from the palace to join the battle on the field. I guess they fought their way through the districts conquered by demons. _

With some difficulty, Chiriko managed to mount the horse. He had to hop onto an abandoned wagon to do so. By then, the riders were almost upon them. Chiriko hurried back to the horse. "Ride!" he commanded. "Ride for the forest!"

But the horse had other ideas. She was a stubborn, opinionated beast; she had belonged to Mitsukake for a couple years, and, unlike Chiriko, she was by no means convinced that Mitsukake was dead. "Neigh," she said, and started cantering in the opposite direction, away from the forest, towards the thick of the fighting.

"No!" Chiriko yelled. "Bad horse! BAD HORSE!"

But it was like throwing pebbles at a lion. Chiriko fought the horse desperately, trying to get her to turn around. His actions only caused the horse to grow more irritated, and soon she had broken into another gallop, this time heading straight toward the thick of the fighting. Chiriko gritted his teeth and hung on for dear life.

It was all noise and screams and chaos. Chiriko squeezed his eyes shut as an enemy soldier approached them and mentally prepared himself for serious pain.

The mare had other ideas. She showed her teeth to the approaching demon. When that didn't scare him, she reared herself up and kicked the offending man in the eyes. He screeched and stumbled backward. A second soldier tried to take down the horse with an axe; he received a sharp kick as well, in an even more unfortunate place. The soldier screamed and buckled over. The horse whinnied and proceeded to trample the unlucky demon with a rather fiendish sort of glee.

"Chiriko!"

Chiriko's head flew up. In front of him, the horse paused in her malevolent stomping frenzy and perked up her ears.

Mitsukake was on the field. Mitsukake was _alive_ and on his feet, looking haggard but uninjured. He was wielding a giant battleaxe, fighting a couple demons at once. Chiriko watched with horrified fascination as he beheaded the first demon and sent the head flying across the field to strike another demon that was sneaking up behind him. "Get out of here, Chiriko!" he yelled, finally turning. "Make for the woods!"

"But what about y–"

Mitsukake slapped the mare on the rump. She let out an indignant whinny and tried to bite him. But the incoming tide of riders from Eiyou made the decision for her. Chiriko found himself being pressed in on all sides by the reinforcements. For a moment, Chiriko and the mare were swept along in the crush of riders, away from Mitsukake –

And then, abruptly, they were outside the battle, at the edge of the fighting, and Chiriko found he could breathe once again. He let out a sigh of relief and stared at his arms, which were shaking so hard they could barely keep ahold of the reins.

_Mitsukake's alive. Mitsukake's _alive. _Thank the gods! _

The gray mare, however, had reached the end of her rope. She had almost died in an earthquake, had gone on a highly emotional quest to find her master, had found her master, and then had been separated from said master by a bunch of hooligan riders without a drop of sympathy for her situation. She had had enough. With an unhappy neigh, she bolted for the woods on the eastern ridge. Halfway there, she seemed to remember that she was still carrying Chiriko. She reared and dumped the boy unceremoniously on the ground, let out a last, pathetic whinny, and then cantered off half-heartedly into the woods.

"Ow," said Chiriko to nobody in particular, rubbing his shoulder. Slowly, he got up and looked around.

He was near the forest on the eastern ridge, at the very border of the demon encampment. That probably should have bothered him a little. But demons were all out fighting – or so Chiriko reasoned – they would have no reason to hang around their camp while a battle was going on. So he ought to be fairly safe.

Chiriko turned around. He was slightly above the valley now, and he could see most of the battlefield from where he stood. It was hard to tell who was winning, but Chiriko thought he saw more Konan and Sairou colors than black.

_Come on, Mitsukake! And Chichiri and Tokaki and Emperor Saihitei! _ For awhile,Chiriko squinted, trying to identify anyone he knew on the battlefield, but he was too far away and there was too much chaos to see clearly. Chiriko's eyes were poor anyway – too much time spent poring over books after dark had made him woefully nearsighted. All the same, he felt better than he had in a long time. _We could still win! Maybe we _will _win –_

Relieved, he rubbed the back of his hand across his brow. His hand met grit and something sticky. Chiriko looked down and grimaced. His hands, which one week earlier had been smeared with fine ink, were now covered in a mix of blood and mud and dirt. His face was probably not much better, particularly after his tumble off the mare. Chiriko thought of his teachers – grim Master Hibiki, his penmanship instructor and old Master Itsuki, who taught him arithmetic. _Oh Master Itsuki, if you could see me now._

Chiriko glanced at the demon encampment. Surely one of the nearby tents must have water. Demons possessed living humans; they had to keep their hosts hydrated and fed, after all.

He tiptoed inside the nearest tent, wrinkling his nose. _Do demons ever bathe? _The smell was atrocious. Aside from that, it looked pretty much like a normal tent, like the kind he had stayed in while traveling with Miaka. _No water, though. _

The second tent didn't have water either; nor did the third. Chiriko was about to give up when he spotted an abandoned gourd leaning against the outside of the tent he had just searched. Gratefully, he tugged out the stopper, and poured the liquid across his face. He slurped a bit into his mouth too – he was woefully thirsty. It must be approaching high noon; Chiriko could barely make out the outline of the sun through the clouds over his head. Chiriko wondered where the time had gone.

He replaced the gourd and hurried toward the edge of the demon camp, in the direction of the forest, remembering Mitsukake's advice to head for the woods. _He's right; if the outer walls of Eiyou are still occupied by demons, then heading back to the city right now probably isn't too smart –_

"You!"

Chiriko jumped.

The demon camp wasn't empty after all. It seemed the demons had posted some sentries around the borders of their camp while the rest were in the field below doing battle. Chiriko had completely forgotten about sentries. They just hadn't crossed his mind.

This sentry looked like a woman, although it was hard to tell through her armor. Chiriko swallowed as he realized she was carrying a crossbow.

"Stay right where you are," said the demon.

Chiriko thought about running. But there was a crossbow aimed at his chest, and it didn't seem like a particularly good idea right now. "What do you want?" His voice shook.

The demon's eyes glinted. "Someone else is looking for you." She whistled through her teeth and then shouted:

"I found him!"

A second figure appeared behind the first demon. Chiriko's heart sank.

"Hello, Chiriko," said Miboshi.

He'd taken the form of a broad-shouldered male soldier this time. With his beard, the soldier reminded Chiriko a bit of an unshaven Mitsukake. But there was a red glint in this man's eyes, and a hungry smile on his lips that Mitsukake never bore. He also had incredibly awful fashion sense.

"Take off the flowers," Miboshi said. "And we will try our little… _experiment_ again, hmm?"

The _lanxing_ was still around Chiriko's neck. Somehow, miraculously, the flowers had survived the horse's mad dash across the battlefield, not to mention Chiriko's fall at the edge of the field.

"Why bother?" Chiriko said, not looking up. His heart was racing. _Keep him talking, _he thought. Even his thinking-voice sounded panicky. He was all alone this time, no one to help him. Probably that was just what Miboshi wanted._ He wants to possess me now – here. I don't want to die alone – away from everyone…_ _Keep him talking, keep him talking – need some time to think things through! _"W-we already know you're more powerful than me."

"Good of you to admit it, little boy. Well, if that _is _the case, then I might as well just kill you here and now. Yokori." He held out his hand for the crossbow.

"Wait!" Chiriko yelped. "That won't be necessary. Here, s-see. I'll take off the _lanxing._"

_Think, _he thought, _thinkthinkthink. Because you're not going to win with your strength but you might _just_ have a chance at winning with your mind. Even without your seishi powers, you're one of the smartest children who've come through the palace in almost a century, Master Itsuki said so, so _think!But his mind was drawing a terrifying blank, as horrifying and empty as the void in the earth that he had seen earlier.

_Void…_

He fumbled at his neck, playing for time, trying to make it look like he was actually making some attempt to take the necklace off. A flower came off in his hand.

He stared at the crumpled flower in his palm.

_Oh. That might be just crazy enough to work._

The necklace was well-made, _lanxing_ flowers interwoven with a thick sort of yarn, not designed to be removed except with a knife. Chiriko shifted his focus to trying to get flowers out of the necklace while making it look like he was trying to untie the thing from his neck. _Not all of them though, I need some of them in reserve, to make sure he doesn't possess me. _He managed to fist a couple flowers in his right hand and yanked these off of the chain.

"What's taking you so long, boy?"

"Kn-knot's a little _tight,_ that's all."

Three more seconds, that should do it. Miboshi was approaching him, growing more and more impatient and irritated. Chiriko balled his fist around the flowers.

"_BOY!_"

_Now. _

Chiriko's hand shot forward and he ground the flowers into the skin of Miboshi's forearm.

As the demon howled, Chiriko bolted. Behind him, he heard the _twang_ of the crossbow, which still held by the other demon. The shot missed Chiriko by a hair's breath.

Then Chiriko ran.

He ran, faster than he had ever run in his life. He ran blindly, around the eastern border of the battlefield, beneath the eastern ridge. He jumped over bodies of enemies and friends, hurried around soldiers who were in the middle of battle, ducked under horses who happened to be in his way. A couple times Chiriko felt his feet splash through substances he seriously doubted were water. _Don't look down, _he told himself over and over. _Just don't look down._

He could hear Miboshi following him, the heavy thud-thud-thud of the man's wide feet. It was not a terribly mobile form, and Chiriko was able to dart and weave around objects much easier than Miboshi. But the man had longer legs, and probably more stamina too. Chiriko's breath came in sharp pants. He felt the beginnings of a cramp coming on.

It occurred to him that the soldiers were thinning. Chiriko looked up and realized he was almost at the city gates. That was the only warning he had before he came upon the tarp he had used to cover the rift in the ground that the earthquake had made. Chiriko dived to the side and just managed to miss landing in the middle of it.

He scrambled around the edge of the tarp and collapsed on the opposite side, gasping, utterly spent.

"Boy!"

Chiriko heard the sound of Miboshi's footsteps approaching. He looked up.

"You win," said Chiriko feebly. "I can't run anymore. Come and get me." He flopped limply on the ground.

"Weak little boy." A smile split Miboshi's face. The man he was possessing, Chiriko noted distantly, seemed to have an aversion to brushing his teeth. "You couldn't run from me forever. I hope you've finally realized –"

He stepped on the tarp.

There was no flash of light, no dramatic bang or crackling noise. Miboshi and the tarp simply sank, almost as though the rift had sucked him inside. Chiriko could hear a faint, high-pitched sound, almost like a shriek, emanate from Miboshi's throat just before he vanished.

Chiriko peered over the edge of the rift. There was no trace of Miboshi.

Chiriko shivered and backed away.

He looked behind him. It was hard to tell, but he thought their side was gaining ground. Above the field of battle, the sun was shining a little, faint beams of light that had managed to break through the thick cloud cover.. For a second, he could have sworn he saw the shadow of an enormous bird profiled against the clouds, just above the horizon.

It looked a little bit like a phoenix.

-v-

Tenkou's arm was around Miaka's shoulder; her arms were pinned against her side. He was surprisingly strong for a creature who'd spent the past few centuries trapped in the underworld. Miaka found it impossible to move. That was actually all right, because (although Miaka would have died before admitting it aloud) Tenkou was probably the only thing that was stopping Miaka from falling over right now. Miaka made a few token attempts to wiggle and struggle against Tenkou's hold, but her efforts were about as successful as a fish trying to escape its tank by banging against the glass walls. She subsided fairly quickly.

"Well done," said Tenkou coolly. His voice sent chills down Miaka's spine. Her head hurt abominably, which probably had something to do with the power drained by her most recent wish. "I must congratulate you, Miaka. Escaping your prison, reversing the effects of the kudoku, summoning the gods – what a lot of energy that must have taken you. Unfortunately, I cannot allow this farce to proceed any farther."

"It's not a farce, and no one can stop me, especially not you," she said bravely. "The gods will be released, and they will imprison you again, exactly as you deserve."

"Is that so," said Tenkou.

Tasuki stepped forward, furious. Miaka wanted to tell him to stop, to stay back. _He wouldn't listen, though._

"Let Miaka go," said Tasuki. Her seishi's face was crimson with rage. Miaka had just time to reflect that his orange hair and scarlet face made a rather unfortunate combination, when Tasuki drew the sword at his belt and charged at Tenkou, driving the sword clean through the demon lord's chest.

Tenkou looked at the weapon that was still embedded in his chest. Without warning, he began to laugh. The sound filled the area around the lake. Tasuki took a step back, unnerved.

"Did you truly think mere swords would kill me, little warrior of Suzaku?"

Tasuki shrugged cockily. "Worth a shot. Anyway, I just remembered, Suzaku's been released. So I don't even need my sword anymore to blast you out of exi – OUCH! #%#ing son of a –"

Tasuki reeled back, clutching the hand that he'd just used to drive the sword into Tenkou. His palm was shining, reflecting what little light was currently making it through the clouds. The sword embedded in Tenkou's chest was glowing a hot, dull red. Calmly, Tenkou reached forward, pulled the blade from his chest, and let it fall to the ground.

"Anyone with common sense should have guessed that I wouldn't be so foolish as to house my life in this body," Tenkou said, with an airy smirk.

"If you're so powerful, then how did you first become trapped?" Miaka challenged. She impressed herself by keeping her voice steady. Her heart was pounding as if she had just run a race course.

"I underestimated a vengeful woman." Tenkou's fingers trailed, almost languidly, across the hollow of Miaka's throat, and she shuddered. "That is a mistake I will not make again."

"Taiitsukun?" Miaka guessed. "Are you talking about Taiitsukun? You must have done something pretty horrible for her to trap you in Hell for all eternity."

"'Horrible' is a matter of perspective, Miaka. A qualitative term which cannot possibly capture the subtle nuances of good and evil, right and wrong. In the end, all that is left is a set of weights, an amalgamation of costs and benefits, and when the final total is tallied – well, how you tally it is all a matter of _perspective _also. I can tell you are not following me, so I will give you an example. If you were to pursue a discovery that could yield _immense_ benefits for society – benefits that would, years from now, save _thousands_ of lives, would you pursue it?"

Miaka blinked, and then realized that the question had been directed at her and that Tenkou was waiting for an answer. "Yes," she said. "Of course I would."

"Now suppose," Tenkou continued, "that the cost of the experiment were the life of one child. Which would you pick, Miaka?"

"I –" Miaka closed her eyes. She could feel beads of sweat running down her face; it was all she could do to think about what Tenkou had just said with the four gods beating at the edges of her senses. "I don't know… I – I mean, thousands, I suppose that makes sense…"

Tenkou smiled. "Yes," he said. "Thousands would be the logical choice. But now – now, suppose the discovery is not assured. You could hurt the child to absolutely no effect at all if the experiment is unsuccessful. But if you succeed in your experiment, then thousands of innocent lives will be saved.

"Do you see now," Tenkou continued, as Miaka struggled to try to figure out just _why_ this felt so wrong to her, "why it is useless to assign costs and benefits to our actions, Miaka? The future is not some fixed thing which we can forecast. You see now why words like 'horrible' – petty labels to describe an action whose full repercussions you will never understand – are useless, trite, meaningless? You are accustomed to thinking of murder as evil – but what if the baby you kill would have grown up to be a cold-blooded killer himself, with hundreds of lives to his name? And that is why, Miaka, why such judgments are worthless – because you can never have perfect knowledge of any future outcome…"

It seemed that Tenkou liked to hear the sound of his own voice almost as much as Tomo had. Perhaps this was a consequence of being trapped for centuries in his hellish prison; or perhaps, like the actor, Tenkou simply had a flair for theatrics. But unlike Tomo, Tenkou was an expert at persuasion, at weaving words suffused with just enough of a hint of truth to be convincing. In their few encounters alone together, Miaka had witnessed this skill firsthand. Her original idea – to keep Tenkou talking until distraction caused him to make a mistake – seemed foolish now. Tenkou's words flowed over Miaka like a litany. Costs, benefits, moral standards – Miaka wasn't really in a state to think about anything particularly carefully, and Tenkou's words seemed to weave themselves together into a kind of logical sense. Tenkou's voice was sweet; his words were persuasive, and Miaka found herself, almost unthinkingly, nodding along as he spoke.

And then a single cold voice cut through it all like a splash of freezing rain, halting Tenkou mid-word:

"You experimented on children."

Miaka looked up, hazily.

_Nakago?_

"The high cost of knowledge," said Tenkou, looking unperturbed.

"Were they the children you bore with Taiitsukun?"

Silence met Nakago's statement, silence broken only by a roll of thunder, very far off in the distance.

It took a long, _long _moment for Nakago's statement to sink into Miaka's befuddled mind. For her to process it the words and realize –

Occasionally there are times when one is confronted with something that seems so heinously impossible that it cannot be true – and yet it is so ludicrous it must be true, because nobody could possibly make up a story that ridiculous. Miaka opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a squeak of a question, which echoed across the water like the high-frequency sounds of a bat:

"You _procreated_?"

-v-

**Author's note**: Blah. I'm at that point where you're almost done writing something and you start losing steam toward the end. This chapter in particular was a killer. Partially because Chiriko scenes are hard for me to write, partially because I hate battle scenes, and partially because there was just so much random stuff in that scene. I mostly got through it by listening to the music from the battle in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It struck me as rather fitting.

Thanks for your reviews – hopefully I've answered the questions this chapter didn't answer below. Drop me a line, even if it's just "Holes in the universe are creepy things" or "The thought of Tenkou procreating makes me sicker than a puppy on a tilt-a-whirl"…

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize belongs to Yuu Watase.

-v-

**Questions from you: **

**How many more chapters?**

Five more. Plus a rather extensive epilogue that I probably won't manage to finish this break (but it's not exactly integral to the story).

**What was Nakago looking at in the shin?**

Tenkou's life history. The shin does a pretty good job of showing the past - in general, not just Nakago's.


	63. Family Problems

**…**

**LXIII**

**Family Problems**

**…**

"You _procreated_? There are **more** of you?"

Miaka's words echoed across the lake, even as she clapped a hand over her mouth. She sucked in a breath, released it, and _still_ she could not shake away her sheer horror at the thought of Tenkou reproducing. _With Taiitsukun! _ It was enough to give anybody nightmares.

"More of _me_?" Tenkou repeated. He chuckled, low in his throat. "Hardly. My children were quite a disappointment to me, I can assure you."

He turned toward Nakago and his expression grew colder.

"Someone," Tenkou said with a frigid glare, "has been prying into affairs that do not concern him." He snapped his fingers, and Miaka saw an oblong, white object – the _shin,_ she realized belatedly – fly out of Nakago's grasp into Tenkou's hands. "I quite preferred you as a puppet," Tenkou continued. "You are Taiitsukun's creature now, and as such, you have quite outlived your usefulness to me as a henchman. You are even starting to annoy me."

Tasuki opened his mouth. "You know what your problem is, Tenkou? You're a –"

"You are starting to annoy me, too."

Tenkou waved his hand in a complicated motion. Miaka saw each one of his long, white fingers outlined perfectly against the roiling waters of the lake for a moment. "Much better," he said – and before Miaka could try to figure out what he had done, Tenkou turned toward her.

"You don't have the strength left to make your second wish," he told her. "The effort it would take, simply to get the word 'kaijin' past your lips would be the death of you."

Miaka believed it. In all her life, she had never felt so dreadful. She could feel the four gods at the edges of her senses, intensely, frighteningly powerful. Exhaustion filled her; every part of her ached; and even drawing breath was proving painful. She wanted to lie down – to sleep –

"In the end, you are only a weak little miko after all," Tenkou whispered in her ear. "I barely have to do anything to defeat you. You don't feel too well, do you?" he said, as Miaka gulped and tried very hard not to be sick from the pounding in her head. "I could find a way to ease your suffering – give you back a little of the power you are currently lacking. All I ask is a little… cooperation on your part."

Anyone who has ever been in quite a bit of pain knows how hard it is to keep a strong will throughout the experience. "No," Miaka gasped, very quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. Miaka's hand reached up reflexively and happened to brush Genbu's necklace around her neck. It was warm. The feel of it against her palm gave her a momentary courage, and she added bravely, "You want to use my wishes for yourself, don't you?"

"I admit, it would be amusing to force all four of the gods to seal themselves away with their own power," Tenkou said, laughing. "And you have established some precedent for that, haven't you, Miaka?"

_Some precedent for…? _Miaka felt her stomach sink further. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed next, but she was powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything except swallow and hug herself and clench her fists and bite back a dry sob. It was like she was watching a moving van that, having just hit a slick patch of oil, was careening toward her – and she was powerless to jump out of the way –

"Your Suzaku friends don't know, do they," said Tenkou lazily, in a voice that was loud enough for everyone to hear him clearly, "about your secret, your last wish, the real reason why they lost their powers? Shall I enlighten them for you?"

_No – wait – _"Don't –" Miaka whispered.

"Shall I tell them how their miko wished for her god to be sealed with his own powers? Shall I inform them of your brilliant little idea to stop yourself being consumed by the gods? No need to be shy – the idea was frankly inspired – but then, it's easy for me to approve; of all my sons, Suzaku was always the most useless."

His words echoed across the lake. Miaka did not dare raise her head, did not dare look at the others – she lacked the strength for that, anyway – but she could hear their silence. It screamed to her of condemnation.

"I didn't think about the consequences," she mumbled into the silence, "I – I thought – that it would turn out better –"

"Oh yes, all for the best," Tenkou purred. "Just like killing Tamahome with your own hands was all for the best in the end. A most impressive show of nerve. But then, nerve has never really been your problem, has it, Miaka? I wonder what else you could do, with the right sort of incentives."

"S-stop," she said, but for all the effect it had on Tenkou, she might have been talking to Yui's stuffed octopus. Her seishi appeared to be frozen. Miaka squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for them to say something, anything. The silence pressed in on Miaka.

"Your seishi are quiet," Tenkou observed. "They have rejected you, for what you have become."

"N-no," she said. "Th-they wouldn't –"

"They have. You are not one of them, Miaka. Do you think they even care that you would almost certainly have died, had you continued to try to defeat me? You were almost devoured by Suzaku once – that is the fate of the priestess, to be devoured. It was only your clever idea that saved you last time, and yet, because of that wish, your friends despise you. I can protect you from that fate again, Miaka. I can protect you from being devoured by the four gods. You are strong – eventually, you will have power far stronger than that of your seishi – why should you not be with one who can train you in its use, who appreciates you for the person you are, instead of making unfair and dangerous demands of you that are beyond your current abilities? Does your own life mean so little to you?"

"I –"

"Do you fear death, Miaka?"

"No," she whispered, but her voice sounded feeble and thin and unconvincing. "No –"

She was spiraling downward, filled with shame and guilt and some other emotion that might have been self-disgust.

Then, she heard a word that caused her to freeze.

_Incorrect._

-v-

Had Miaka actually had the strength to look up, she would have understood that the others' silence was actually Tenkou's doing, and not a symptom of their disgust. They were each immobilized, rendered silent by bands of chi that seemed to have stolen their voices in addition to their ability to move. But they could hear Tenkou perfectly well, as the demon lord had no doubt intended.

They were surprised by what they heard, but most of them hated Tenkou so much by then that they assumed there was a reasonable explanation that would eventually come to light. The exception, of course, was Nakago, who understood Tenkou's allusions perfectly, having been privy to certain divulgences of Miaka's in the past.

He listened with half an ear as he slowly chipped away at the bonds that held him immobile. It was taking a long time. He still felt oddly achy and tired, a little like he had felt under the influence of the kudoku when it had first started taking hold. But the kudoku was gone – he had checked very thoroughly after their escape from the cave.

He could feel deep distress emanating from the miko now. She felt unsettlingly weak in the aftermath of the summoning; waves of ill health practically emanated off of her. It took a great deal of focus for Nakago to push the knowledge of the miko's current state to the back of his mind. He heard Tenkou's voice, cold and cruel, echoing off the lake:

"They don't care about you, Miaka. They have rejected you, for what you have become."

"N-no," Nakago heard the miko say uncertainly. She was shivering, too, and that wasn't a good sign either. "Th-they wouldn't –"

Nakago continued to listen as Tenkou wove his web of lies about her. He could feel the miko being slowly engulfed by shame and disgust. Tenkou was hitting her where he would do the most damage, and it was working. Nakago could _feel _each word the demon lord spoke lancing into her, could _feel_ her flinch each time as though Tenkou was inflicting physical wounds–

Shocked at the intensity of what he was feeling, Nakago recoiled.

He was used to sensing chi, experienced in interpreting the emotional fluctuations that lead to its disruption. He had used this ability hundreds of times. But what Nakago was sensing now was something else entirely. He was actually feeling what the miko was feeling. And that had never happened before.

It should not be happening.

Now that he acknowledged their connection, other things he had experienced that day began to make sense as well. Like why he felt so unnaturally tired now – was his own body actually reflecting the miko's internal state? Nakago thought back and realized that he had only started feeling ill after the miko had summoned the gods. And it had been astonishingly easy to transfer power to her earlier – at the time, he had assumed it was due to the blood ritual and her own lack of power, but now –

Had it been another time, another place, Nakago – who was an intensely private person at the best of times – would have been horrified by his connection with the miko. But today was, quite possibly, the end of the world. Certain exceptions had to be made.

And he might be able to use this unexpected connection, use it to all of their benefits.

Tenkou was speaking.

"Do you fear death, Miaka?" Tenkou asked.

"No," she said, "No, no, no…"

Nakago reached forward mentally again, this time with intent.

_Incorrect_, Nakago said.

-v-

"Everyone fears death," Tenkou said silkily. "It is only natural that you should desire to prolong your life –"

But Miaka was no longer listening to the demon lord. She was suddenly, abruptly attuned to the unnerving feeling of having someone else sharing her consciousness. Nakago's voice in her head was like a splash of cold water, a red light that suddenly appeared in the middle of nowhere to block her way.

_N-Nakago? _

His voice spoke in her mind, cool and a little bit irritated. _Of course you do not wish to die. You derive enjoyment from being alive; that is simply an aspect of your nature; and an aversion to death is the logical corollary. _

_So I'm a –_

_There is a difference between fearing death and being a coward. You are only a coward if you let fear rule your actions. And you are not a coward, Miko. Cease acting like one. As fascinating as it is to listen to Tenkou's tactics of seduction, I'm afraid if I have to continue to listen to such pathetic answers as you are giving, there will be severe and unpleasant consequences to all parties involved._

_Okay_, said Miaka, nodding absently to Tenkou's most recent remark, _but everyone else doesn't think so – that's why the others haven't said anything – they think I'm despicable because they know the truth about my last wish and Tamahome – _

_Look around you._ Nakago's voice held a bite of impatience. **_Tell me exactly what you see. _**

Miaka opened her eyes.

_Oh, _she said.

She suddenly remembered Tenkou's complicated hand-motion from earlier and felt very stupid.

_You're all under a spell!_

_Magnificent deduction. _If Nakago's mental voice had been any more sarcastic, it would probably have scalded her brain.

_Shut up,_ she said._ What am I supposed to do now? _

_It would be to our benefit if you distracted Tenkou until the enchantment holding us captive wears off._ If Nakago had been able to move, Miaka knew he would have been frowning. _Perhaps I can use the link between us to give you enough power to summon Seiryuu. _

Miaka stole a quick look at her captor. He had finished speaking and seemed to be waiting for some response from her, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what he'd just said. He was starting to frown at her continued silence.

"Um," said Miaka intelligently.

_Well this is just great! "Distract Tenkou." What exactly was the arrogant bastard suggesting, that I strip naked and give the evil overlord from hell a lap dance? _

A voice in her mind, half-sardonic, half-amused:

**_This _**_might assist you._

Miaka blinked.

Scenes were flashing at the back of her mind, faster than she could process them. For a moment, Miaka felt like she was in a roomful of television screens, each playing a different movie clip on fast-forward _Slow down! _she commanded, and the rain of images slowed. These were things Nakago had seen in the _shin_, she realized suddenly, as he was walking through the tunnel toward the lake.

Miaka sorted through them as quickly as she could. Tenkou with Taiitsukun, opening up a hole in her home world (at least, Miaka assumed the woman was Taiitsukun; she actually looked _pretty_) – Tenkou in some room that looked like the 18th century equivalent of a research laboratory, yelling at Taiitsukun to get him something – Taiitsukun and Tenkou starting a family in the Shijintenchisho, building a house by the side of – Miaka squinted – this lake_. _Journeys back and forth between the Shijintenchisho and what seemed to be 18th century Japan – Tenkou writing, very carefully, onto a very old, very well-tended sheet of paper – the couple's four boys growing older –

_Wait, WHAT?_

For a moment, Miaka didn't understand. Images flashed in front of her eyes, and she had to replay them a couple of times to make sense of them. When she finally understood, she almost choked.

"You **cannot** be serious!"

Silence reverberated throughout the clearing. Miaka glanced at Nakago. His face was very still, but his eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at him.

"Oops," said Miaka. "Did I say that aloud?

"It's just," she continued, pausing briefly even more images continued to flash before her eyes. "Just that you –" She shook herself, trying to collect her thoughts. "You're – _gods_, you are _sick_!"

She began to laugh, a high-pitched giggle that caused Tenkou to frown. Miaka stopped abruptly. She probably sounded almost mad.

"Sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "Well actually, I'm not sorry, but you should be. The four gods are your _children_? Or – no, that's not right – your children _became_ the four gods? Suzaku, Genbu, Byakko, and Seiryuu? And," Miaka continued, as she dredged up further memories, "you _experimented_ on them?"

"As I said, Miaka." Tenkou's voice was unnervingly cold. "Costs and benefits are meaningless."

Miaka watched the scene, a sick feeling entering the pit of her stomach. Something Tenkou had said earlier began to click suddenly. _That_ _whole discourse on labels, blame –_ "You experimented on your kids for a reason? What were you hoping to find? What was so important –"

"He was hoping to reverse the damage that changing The Rules had inflicted upon the Universe of the Four Gods by using our sons' power," a new voice said coldly. "Unfortunately, he did not succeed."

Tenkou's eyes swiveled upward, toward the source of the voice, and his voice grew ten degrees colder. "You," he said.

"Yes. Me." Taiitsukun glared down at the proceedings from her cloud, which had just appeared above the immobilized seishi. Her gray hair was ragged and unkempt, but her eyes snapped with rage. "Did you think I wouldn't make it here eventually?"

Taiitsukun turned to Miaka, who tensed a little. But instead of berating Miaka, the sage seemed to have finally decided to tell her things. "Tenkou used our four children to experiment on ways to make manipulating The Rules less costly to this universe," she said curtly. "He knew that if he continued to write Rules that governed how the world functioned, he would eventually succeed in tearing the world apart. When our children finally rebelled against these experiments, he punished them. I was researching the ancient beast-gods of legend, and Tenkou taunted me by turning my four sons into the beast-gods and declaring that they would never again reside in the mortal realms. My sons and I imprisoned Tenkou, but I couldn't reverse the Rule."

Miaka glanced at Nakago. "And we all thought _you _had family problems."

Taiitsukun glared down at Tenkou, arms crossed, cheeks bright with rage. "And now you've managed to break out of your prison. Well, I hope you're happy with yourself. You've failed, idiot. You've overstepped yourself once again. Once Miaka unseals Seiryuu, we will be able to place you back in your little cage in Hell. You will never again be a bother to us."

Miaka glanced at Nakago. She could feel power flowing into her, little by little. Whatever Nakago was doing – and she could think about their strange connection later – it seemed to be working. But Miaka was still weak – weak enough that the thought of unsealing Seiryuu made her want to lie down for a whole week and sleep.

Unfortunately, Miaka wasn't the only one to notice that her power was steadily increasing. Though Miaka made no movement, Tenkou's eyes suddenly swiveled toward her, and toward Nakago, and back to her again.

"How –" Tenkou said, but the next second the confusion left his eyes. "I see," he said. "Yes, thank you for elaborating. I think I _do_ understand your plan… fully." He gazed at Taiitsukun steadily and a smile stole across his face.

"So sorry to disappoint you."

Miaka felt Tenkou shift next to her. She whirled, but she was too late. In a fluid movement, Tenkou drew the dagger at his belt and plunged it into Miaka's heart.

-v-

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, blah blah blah, everything you recognize is the property of Yuu Watase, blah blah blah.


	64. Protected

…

**XLIV**

**Protected**

…

"I just realized… I never actually told you who killed Tamahome," Tenkou whispered in Miaka's ear, as she stared at the blade that appeared to be sprouting from her chest. "Don't you want to know who orchestrated the fire that destroyed the inn where you were staying? I intended for that boy to die, you know. He was a bad influence on you. He would have stopped you from coming to me."

"You –"

Tenkou stepped back, laughing, as Miaka stumbled and fell to her knees.

_Tamahome… _

It was getting very hard to think.

Someone was screaming, shouting shrill curses at Tenkou. _Nuriko_, Miaka thought distantly. Only Nuriko would have the gall to run in Tenkou's face right after he had just stabbed somebody and call him fifty flavors of horrible names.

_She can talk again, _Miaka thought hazily. _The spell has ended._

"I changed my mind," Miaka heard Tenkou say, through the pain. "I got what I needed from her, after all. It would have been amusing tormenting her, breaking her into submission, but leaving her alive was too much of a risk, now that she's summoned the gods. You have your precious Taiitsukun to thank for helping me to realize that." He turned and laughed in Taiitsukun's face. "You thought your miko was protected by that trinket around her neck, but unfortunately for her, it only protects against magical insults. Seiryuu will never be unsealed, and you shall never imprison me again..."

_Seiryuu._

"Miaka."

The voice was much nearer and louder than Tenkou's. Blearily she stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. Her entire chest was on fire. She looked down. The knife stuck out of her chest at an odd angle. Shaking, Miaka grasped the handle to try to pull it out, but Nakago's hand pulled hers away – and there was blood, so much blood –

_Her _blood, she realized suddenly.

Was this really it? Was she really going to end this way?

There were voices and sounds and people around her; someone was supporting her head – and it _hurt_ – In all her life, Miaka could not remember feeling a pain so intense. Her chest screamed, ached with pain – every movement was anguish –

Distantly she found she could make out voices amidst the pain. One voice, gravelly, insistent.

"_Wish_, Miaka! Wish yourself better – say the word, say it, 'kaijin' –"

No. Taiitsukun was wrong – she _did _need to make a wish, one final wish before she died – but_ that wasn't it _–

Nakago was forcing power into her; one of his hands was on her chest, beside the wound, and the sudden river of chi amidst the pain was making it hard to think. She wanted to tell him to stop, he should save his own strength, she couldn't _think _when he did that, but she couldn't seem to manage anything like words – she squeezed her eyes shut and then it came to her:

_Seiryuu!_ ..._have to wish... Seiryuu unsealed... can't die... until that happens... _

She opened her mouth, tried to say the words. But blood filled the space between her lips, obliterating all possibility of speech. She coughed wetly, a horrible sound; she was choking, lungs filled with blood –

_No..._ she thought – but her vision was swimming – there were people around her, but she couldn't see their faces – the coppery tang of blood was rich in her mouth, and she could feel it starting to dribble out the corners of her lips –

She had failed – failed in everything she'd set out to do. Her seishi were going to die – Nakago was going to die – her promise to Soi was broken – ALL her seishi were going to die and she couldn't do anything about it – not a thing –

It was growing harder and harder to think – Miaka's hands reached up uselessly toward her throat, in one last, desperate effort to restore her speech – but instead of skin, her unsteady hand came to wrap around stone –

Stone.

_A necklace,_ Miaka thought hazily. _I'm wearing a necklace. _

It was getting very hard to feel her limbs.

_… I'm wearing a..._

The necklace was important, somehow. _But why?_

_Something... something about power... gods and beasts... animals... beast gods... the summoning ceremony... _What did it matter?

She was so tired.

_Did_ it really matter?

_A necklace of stone... _

_A stone necklace, to summon the gods –_

_A powerful necklace, with the gift to __**protect**__ –_

It was all very hazy, like when you are half awake and half dreaming. Thoughts were coming to her, not in fully formed sentences, but in fleeting ideas that to any sane and healthy human would have only seemed to have partially made sense. Miaka had entered a dreamlike state of consciousness, where thoughts flitted like bats through her mind, where ideas became twisted into senseless, contorted shapes. Somehow, in all that muddle, an errant thought took root:

She _needed _to pass the necklace of Hokkan on to Nakago.

She did not know why – could not explain how _this_ was what she thought of, right as she lay dying – only knew that, if she did this, she might not have failed her obligations utterly.

"Nrghhh," she said, and then she scrabbled for the necklace; the clasp came free with the first tug and then she was pushing it, forcing it into Nakago's hand. His fingers closed round it – and there, she was done; she let her hands fall to the ground in relief – she had done it – she had given him the necklace, and at least one of them might survive this affair. Nakago, who she had promised to keep safe, might actually be –

_Protected._

It was Miaka's last thought before she succumbed to the darkness.

-v-

**Author's note: **Um… -ducks flying tomatoes and reminds readers that dead authors can't update-

Also, it's another double update this time, guys! (In case you didn't notice the other chapter :-P)

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize does not belong to me.


	65. The other side

...

**LXV **

**The other side**

**…**

"_No!_" said Keisuke. "No, no, no, no, NO!"

"Miaka –" Yui swallowed. "Miaka's really –"

Keisuke thrust The Book into Tetsuya's hands. "DO something," he yelled.

Tetsuya took the book, his own hands shaking. _The priestess of Suzaku_, he read_, lay lifeless upon the shore of the lake. _

For a moment, Tetsuya only stared at the words.

Then he reached for his pen.

Before he could set it to the page, new words appeared under the description of the priestess' death, new words that were _not_ part of the storyline at all:

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS? THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES. BRINGING PEOPLE BACK TO LIFE IS NOT TRIVIAL, YOU KNOW. THE AMOUNT OF POWER REQUIRED IS ENORMOUS. THINK ABOUT IT. ASSORTING ALL THOSE MOLECULES INTO THE APPROPRIATE CONFIGURATION TO RESTORE LIFE HAS QUITE A HIGH COST. ALL THAT ENERGY HAS TO COME FROM SOMEWHERE. YOU'D BE DOING SERIOUS AND UNPREDICTABLE DAMAGE TO THE UNIVERSE, NOT TO MENTION THE INTENSE AMOUNT OF STRAIN YOU'D BE PUTTING ON **_ME_** –

"Too bad. Will anyone I care about die as a result?"

...PROBABLY NOT.

"Good," said Tetsuya, grabbing the nearest pen. "Because I am writing this into the Universe of the Four Gods, and I _dare_ you to stop me."

-v-

Miaka was dead.

Nakago had felt her death, had experienced it through the bond of their newfound connection. He had felt Miaka's chi slip away like a ship on an ebbing tide, despite all his attempts to keep her in the land of the living. Her desperation in the moments before she died still remained, a bitter aftertaste in the back of his mind.

_Gone._

He stared at the stone pendant in the palm of his hand, the last of all gifts from the miko. Blood had pooled in the hollows of Miaka's body and on the rocks around her. Nakago's hands were stained with blood, too, and the necklace he held was red with it. Beneath the dark smears, the pendant still gleamed faintly.

Vaguely, Nakago registered Nuriko's distant wails, Tasuki's furious and ineffectual attempts to charge Tenkou, Taiitsukun's silence. Nakago did not even spare a look at Taiitsukun. Neither she nor the gods had been able to keep the miko alive. _Useless._ They had proven themselves to be entirely useless – but what use _was_ power, really, unless you knew what to do with it?

Nakago tucked the necklace of Hokkan into his pocket. Then he reached out one bloodstained hand and plucked the sword of Konan from Suboshi's limp grasp.

"What do you –" Suboshi began. Nakago ignored him. Slowly, he drew the blade. The sword slid from its sheath with a sound like death. It glimmered faintly.

"He thinks he can bring your precious miko back to life." Tenkou was behind Nakago. His voice was mocking, radiant with triumph. "But even the gods cannot bring back the dead."

"I know," said Nakago.

His voice was very, very cold.

Had Tenkou seen the gleam that entered Nakago's eyes at that moment, he might have hesitated. A less arrogant man, seeing Nakago's expression, would almost certainly have run for cover.

But Tenkou was nothing if not arrogant.

Laughing, the Lord of the Underworld threw up a shield as Nakago turned and strode toward him. An hour ago, this barrier would have stopped Nakago completely. Now, it was as though Nakago was moving through a thick, heavy syrup. Nakago felt the necklace grow warm in his pocket, but still he was pressing forward, despite the considerable force which Tenkou threw up to stop him.

For a moment, Tenkou's eyes widened. Then the demon lord's face relaxed in understanding. "Ah," he said. "The necklace. A gift from my dear son Genbu. _Protection._"

Nakago ignored him. He pulled his blade back and then lunged forward. The sword of Suzaku slid through Tenkou's chest like water, burying itself deep in Tenkou's heart.

"Fool," Tenkou purred, looking down at the weapon. "We've been through this already. You cannot kill me this way."

"That might concern me more," said Nakago, twisting the blade in deeper, "if I actually intended to **_kill_** you."

-v-

Light filtered in through the open windows of Miaka's bedroom; a sweet breeze caressed her face. The entire room smelled fresh, like flowers after a spring rain. Sitting in bed, supported by more pillows than she could count, Miaka stared down, entranced, at the bundle in her hands.

The baby – her _son_ – burbled happily. He had brown eyes and dark hair and exquisitely small fingers – which he was currently using to grab at Miaka's hair. "Ouch," Miaka said, waving a reproving finger at him. "Stop that. Hair is not a toy!"

Gently she untangled her hair from his fingers. Her son frowned and reached for her hair again.

Miaka didn't even see Tamahome enter the room, but she noticed he was there when he sat down next to her, depressing part of the mattress and causing the baby to squeal with delight. Tamahome grinned and held out a finger for their son to play with. "Lovely baby," he remarked.

"Tamahome." For some reason, Miaka felt as though she wanted to cry. As though she had been missing Tamahome desperately, and now he was finally back –

Which was ridiculous. Tamahome had never left; he had been here all this time. It was the happiest day of her life, and she ought to be smiling. Miaka chalked her odd reaction up to hormones. She turned back to her son, who was still trying to tug on her hair.

Tamahome was watching the two of them closely, an odd, almost sad, expression on his face. But when he caught Miaka's eye, he flashed a smile, and she wondered if she had only imagined that odd, slightly wistful look in his eyes. "He's horribly obstinate," her husband said. "Just like his mother."

"Excuse me?" said Miaka, with some indignation. "I resent that rem – OW!"

Laughing, Tamahome took the bundle from her. "Stop abusing your mother," he told the baby sternly. "She only just met you, and you're already tormenting her."

Miaka frowned – but she didn't have time to analyze that comment before a group of people burst into the room. Miaka recognized Tamahome's father and Tamahome's brother Shunkei. "Congratulations Oneesan!" Shunkei said brightly. "What are you going to name him?"

"I – I don't know," said Miaka. "I haven't thought of a name yet."

It suddenly struck her as odd that she and Tamahome _hadn't _thought of a name for the child already. She pondered this as she watched Tamahome pass their son to Tamahome's father. Another woman – Miaka thought she might be Tamahome's mother – smiled down at the child. Gyokuran, Tamahome's oldest sister , ran into the room and began to coo over the baby too.

Miaka felt Tamahome take her arm.

"Come on, Miaka. Let's go outside. I want to talk."

"About a name for the baby?"

"If you like.

Miaka frowned. "But –"

Tamahome noticed the direction of her gaze and smiled. "He'll be fine. My parents will look after him. Come on. I need to talk to you, and I can't do it while all these people are around."

Miaka sat up. A distant part of her noted that she felt amazingly good for someone who had just been through childbirth. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "Are you sure –"

"Positive. Come on; I need to talk to you."

They went down the stairs and into the kitchen. People were gathered in her kitchen as well – an older blonde woman who looked oddly like a female version of Nakago, Tamahome's oldest brother, and Miaka's father. All three of them smiled as Tamahome and Miaka came downstairs. Miaka turned toward her father, frowning, but Tamahome touched her arm. "Let's go outside first," he said. "They'll all be here when you get back."

He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. Miaka followed him. But as they cleared the doorway, Miaka stopped, suddenly bewildered. She had thought they were inside _their_ house, but she suddenly realized that couldn't be true. Their house was supposed to be situated in the middle of a city – but the rest of Eiyou was nowhere in sight. And their front yard, once a tiny strip of grass and flowers, had been replaced by an enormous garden. Miaka frowned, a sudden suspicion blossoming in her mind. She watched as Tamahome strode forward, toward a well-kept bench in the shade of an old oak.

"Join me?" he said, beckoning her forward.

She sat down uneasily. In front of her, water rippled upon a large bird bath. _This place looks like a scene from my home world, _she thought. _It's too modern to be part of the Shijintenchisho._

Tamahome folded his hands and gazed idly into the bird bath. "Once," he said conversationally, "when I was dying – the first time, I mean – the time before I _actually_ died – I came here. To this place. For me, the building looked like a temple from your world, and we were getting married. But this bench is the same."

It stole upon Miaka gradually, the realization of where she was. Petals swirled around them. Miaka caught one and folded it in half. She let it go and watched as it became whole and perfect again.

"You've come so far," Tamahome said. "Done so much. I'm proud of you, Miaka."

"...But. There's always a but." Miaka sighed. "You're going to tell me I need to go back, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything," Tamahome said, grinning. "I learned that lesson a _long_ time ago. I'm just going to ask you the same question that my dad asked me, which is: _Could you live with yourself if you stayed?_"

Miaka frowned down at her hands. "I could go and come right back after Tenkou's defeated," she said.

The birdbath in the center of the clearing was shimmering. The water was shifting. If Miaka squinted, she thought she could see the outline of a different pool of water, one she knew and recognized. A lake beneath a stormy sky, surrounded by cliffs and rolling hills. And on the shore of the lake, familiar figures, fighting to destroy…

"But you won't," said Tamahome placidly. "I know you, Miaka. You would have every intention of coming back right after defeating Tenkou. But even when Tenkou's defeated, when everyone's safe from _that_ problem, there will always be some reason for you to stay in the real world. Always someone new for you to save... or," he added, almost wickedly, "to _protect_."

Miaka's eyes flew toward him. Tamahome's eyes held a mischievous glint. It was almost as though he _knew –_

"I'm done protecting people!" Miaka protested. "It's too hard – and – and quite frankly, I've done a pretty poor job of it so far!"

"A poor job," Tamahome repeated, lips twitching. "I see."

"I _have_," she insisted._ "_Someone _else _can do the necessary protecting. I mean, gods help me, I'm _dead_! Isn't it time for me to retire?"

"Mm," said Tamahome.

Miaka stared at the rippling waters of the birdbath. It was very odd to see herself dead. The others didn't seem to be taking it all that well, either. Nuriko had collapsed on the ground, head in her hands, not even seeming to care that she was kneeling in a pool of Miaka's blood. Tasuki was charging at Tenkou in blind rage, an entirely ineffectual gesture. As she watched, Tenkou threw her friend backward. Miaka flinched. Tasuki hit the stone cliff and collapsed onto the ground – Miaka swallowed as she caught sight of his leg, bent at a very odd angle–

"Isn't there something we can –" Miaka began, and then snapped her mouth shut.

For a moment, she sat, watching the scene unfold in front of her. Around Miaka and Tamahome, wind rustled the trees, dislodging petals which fluttered to the grass. Everything about the garden was idyllic, but Miaka found she could not tear her eyes away from the world in the birdbath.

"The real world hurts, Tamahome," Miaka said at last. "I've been wrong about so many things..."

"And right about others." Tamahome laid a hand on her shoulder. "Everyone makes mistakes, Miaka. It's part of living. Look at Taiitsukun. She married Tenkou, and if that doesn't count as a mistake, I don't know what does."

More soberly, he added:

"The real world is a painful place to be. But without a little pain can you honestly say that you'd appreciate it as much?"

He, too, stared into the pool.

"The more I watch your seishi from up here, the more I realize that all seishi _do_ have something in common after all, regardless of their god. They're all determined to fight, to struggle on, until the very end.

"Just like their priestess."

Miaka looked at him.

Tamahome stood up, hands in his pockets. "We'll finish this conversation later, Miaka, after Tenkou's defeated. We still have some catching up to do."

"But I never actually _said_ I was going back!" she protested.

"Yes, you did," said Tamahome. "Go back to your seishi, Miaka. They need you."

The grin on his face was a little sad, but nonetheless genuine. He seemed to be fading, his outline rippling and shimmering in and out of existence. In fact, _everything_ was fading – the bench that Miaka was sitting on, the path, even the house in the distance.

_He knows me too well, _was Miaka's last, irritated thought before she opened her eyes.

-v-

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, none of the characters are mine. Not even Miaka's baby.


	66. Strength of will

…

**LXVI **

**Strength of will**

…

**I generally consider putting inspirational quotes at the beginnings of chapters a little bit pretentious, but this one seemed to fit: **

_"You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him." –Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_

-v-

The ground was shaking.

Nakago ignored the considerable vibrations running through the earth beneath his feet. He twisted the blade even deeper into Tenkou's flesh. For a moment, his eyes met the merciless black eyes of the demon lord. Cold, dark, and powerful as those eyes were, reflected in them was the barest hint of uncertainty.

Had Nakago not been so cold himself, he might have felt some satisfaction at Tenkou's moment of alarm. But Nakago felt nothing at all, nothing save hard, unyielding resolve. He would take Tenkou down himself. He would rip the demon lord's borrowed power away from him, and he would leave the demon god screaming and begging for mercy before he sealed Tenkou away, back in Hell. That was his intent, and his whole world was centered now on this goal.

There were many methods of stealing power. Nakago had run through them coldly, a moment before he'd taken the sword of Konan from Suboshi. There was bathing in the victim's tears, and eating the victim's uncooked heart, and _Bocchuu-Jutsu_. There was drinking the victim's blood, as Tenkou had done to Miaka that very afternoon.

There was also stabbing the victim through the heart with a weapon of power.

Stealing power was inherently dangerous, particularly stealing power from a powerful foe. The enemy's power might overwhelm you, or even cripple you. Or the enemy might turn the connection against you – might start taking your own power through the link, leaving you defenseless and vulnerable, if not killing you outright.

It all depended on strength of will.

Nakago pushed the blade even deeper into Tenkou's heart. Then he began to _pull_, with all his might, on the power that whirled about Tenkou like a cyclone.

He ignored Taiitsukun's cry of "Fool!" behind him, ignored the sudden attention of the other seishi. Nakago doubled his efforts. He saw Tenkou's eyes narrow and knew that the demon lord had suddenly understood his intent and was resisting with all his power. Nakago pulled harder, his grip tightening on the sword.

Tenkou was powerful and perilous and intensely strong. Attacking him in this way was like prodding a slumbering volcano. "Do you truly think you can defeat me this way?" the demon lord hissed. He lashed out at Nakago with power, but Nakago brought the necklace forward, and Genbu's talisman absorbed most of the shock.

Nakago did not reply. He could feel tendrils and cords of Tenkou's power starting to flow into him, but the effort it took to suck Tenkou's power through the sword was costing him already. It was like pulling weeds, weeds with roots that spread fifteen, twenty feet into the earth. Tenkou's powers fought back, defying every attempt Nakago made to take them away from their master. Nakago could not possibly hope to take and hold all of Tenkou's power – but he might be able to take _enough_ –

"You _will_ obey me." His teeth were clenched, but still he managed to force the words out, and he hung on, though Suzaku's sword grew hot beneath his hand.

"_I _obey _you_? A _god_ obey an overconfident native of this world? A _bastard _son of a foolish tribeswoman no less – one who _worshipped_ me while she was still alive –"

His right arm felt like it was on fire – the metal was burning him, sending stabs of pain all the way up to his shoulder. Still Nakago hung on. He could not let go – He _must_ win –

Then a voice, wholly unexpected – a voice that he might have recognized if his whole attention was not currently focused on _making Tenkou suffer. _

"TENKOU!"

The shout had more effect on Tenkou than it had on Nakago. Tenkou turned, and in his second of inattention, the powers that he had clung to so desperately began to flow toward Nakago. But, like a dam that has been held back for too long and is suddenly released, Tenkou's powers flowed through the sword quickly– _much_ too quickly. The sword was burning, blazing hot with the recoil of so much energy. Nakago felt Tenkou's powers begin to swamp him. The influx of _chi_ was even too strong for Genbu's talisman; Nakago felt the protective enchantment crumble under the onslaught. His arm was a blaze of pain. The coldly calculating part of his mind told him that he had to release the powers somehow, quickly, or else he would be completely engulfed. He cast around for an outlet – any outlet –

A line, extending outward from him to another, a cord which had suddenly sprung up in his magical vision, which connected him to someone else –

He sent the excess power down that path of least resistance, hardly even thinking about where it was going–

It was only when he had at last fallen, gasping, to his knees in the sand – vision blurring – right arm radiating pain – that Nakago realized:

Miaka was alive.

-v-

Miaka flinched as power struck her.

For a moment, every nerve of hers screamed – and then, suddenly – all was _right_ again; she felt fantastic, as though she had never died, had never had her powers stolen – had never summoned the gods –

Except she _had_ summoned the gods. She could feel them too, at the edge of her senses. She could feel the gods as well, but the connection which bound her to them was no longer as overwhelming as it had been before Miaka died.

And she could feel her own powers again. Tenkou had stolen her powers, but Miaka had them back now; she could feel them, a comforting fizz beneath her skin. _How…?_

Miaka looked towards Nakago and understood. Nakago had stolen them back, and then passed them onto her through their link. He had stolen some of Tenkou's power, too. But the chi beneath her skin now did not feel malicious – it was just power, raw energy – energy that she could use –

Miaka closed her eyes.

She could feel her seishi around her. Nuriko and Amiboshi and Tasuki and Subaru and even Suboshi and Kaen – she closed her eyes and concentrated, and she felt Hotohori too, Chichiri and Mitsukake and Chiriko and Tokaki, even Tamahome – almost as if they were right next to her. Their powers flowed through her – surrounded her – a comforting, warm fizz at the edge of her senses.

And Nakago. She sensed him as well. He seemed to be injured, almost unconscious – she could see him cradling his right arm. But he was still filled with power that he had just stolen from Tenkou, and he didn't seem to be in imminent danger of dying. She strengthened the connection between them before turning to face their foe.

"Miaka."

Smiling, Miaka looked into Tenkou's face. The demon lord had never looked worse; the sword of Suzaku was still sticking from his chest; and his eyes held something that might have been fear. But still he started forward. "I can bring Tamahome back," he said. "I know how. It was one of the secrets I discovered, in the course of my experiments. If you kill me, you'll never see your darling Tamahome again."

His voice was persuasive as ever. As Miaka watched, a shadow appeared by his right hand, a shadow which grew and began to resemble a person she knew very well.

"Don't you want to see Tamahome again?" Tenkou asked, laying a hand on the faux-Tamahome's shoulder. "Don't you love him?"

Miaka watched the Tamahome replica, and for a moment, a calm, almost thoughtful expression crossed her face. Then Miaka looked at Tenkou. The demon lord actually took a step backward at the sight of the expression in her eyes.

"Of course I love Tamahome." Miaka shook her head pityingly. "You've never truly loved anyone, so you probably wouldn't understand this, but the funny thing is, I don't need your help. You see, _Tamahome's actually been with me all along_."

She closed her eyes.

"_Kaijin_," she said.

Miaka watched the look of horror appear in Tenkou's eyes. She saw the gods' beast-forms descend, majestic, from the skies. She felt their power swirl about the lake, making winds that buffeted the water into great waves that crashed against the cliffs. She watched Tenkou howl as the gods' power caught him – watched Tamahome's replica vanish – watched the demon lord shriek, all traces of handsomeness gone from his face, as he faded into nothingness –

And then there was silence.

-v-

**Author's note: **Another double update! Whew! Please tell me your thoughts! (Especially since it's pretty rare that I actually finish a story, so I'm interested to know your opinions of the climax. Epic enough? Letdown?). One more chapter and then an epilogue. (As a warning, I doubt I'll have the epilogue done by Sunday; it's pretty meaty, as I want to actually do N & M's post-Tenkou lives justice without having to write a sequel. But the next chapter should be a good enough conclusion in the meantime). And thanks to all those who've reviewed so far! You've kept me going!

**Disclaimer: ** I own nothing. Except perhaps plot. Any characters you recognize are the property of Yuu Watase.


	67. The Last Rule

...

** LXVII **

**The Last Rule**

...

There was a waterfall next to her.

Miaka rubbed her eyes and sat up. She was resting on a bed of velvety moss. It stretched out beneath the pines that surrounded the river, a seemingly endless green carpet. The sky overhead was the bluest Miaka had ever seen it.

For a couple minutes, Miaka stared through the trees, lulled by the burble of running water. Slowly, it dawned on her that she had no idea where she was or what was going on and that it might benefit her to be concerned about such things.

It was just very difficult to muster the energy in a place like this.

_"Miaka_."

Miaka blinked and looked up the river.

Suzaku stood on the rocks upstream. He was not looking at her, but gazing into the distance, an almost contemplative expression on his face. He was not close enough to Miaka that she could have heard him speak – but Miaka had the _distinct_ impression that he had just spoken to her.

Cautiously, Miaka approached Suzaku, doing her best not to crush any of the moss underfoot. When she was a few feet away, she stopped respectfully. "Lord Suzaku?"

At her words he turned to look at her, unspeaking.

He looked better than when Miaka had at last seen him. During the summoning, the beast-god had had a pale, thin look about him, as though the color was slowly draining away from his features. Now, he fairly blazed with health. The crimson feathers that lined his cloak gleamed in the sunlight, almost iridescent, casting slivers of light on the rock. Miaka felt a momentary spike of relief that her wish hadn't permanently damaged him.

"Where are we?" Miaka asked, looking around the riverbank. She was just close enough to the waterfall to feel a faint spray of water on her face. Far from making her feel cold, the mist of water on her skin felt pleasant, almost invigorating.

"_We are in the land of the four gods._"

"The… sorry?"

Suzaku looked at her. "_My brothers and I were banished to this place after our father, Tenkou, made a Rule that we were no longer allowed to walk the earth as normal men._"

"He doesn't sound like much of a father," Miaka said, before she could activate her brain's slightly defective filter system. "Um. Sorry. For what it's worth, my dad wasn't the greatest, either." _He never banished me or Keisuke to another dimension though. _"And Tenkou," said Miaka, "he's back in Hell now?"

"_Tenkou has been successfully sealed back into Hell._"

Miaka nodded. She remembered the sudden swirl of power around the lake, and she recalled too how Tenkou had looked as he disappeared, overwhelmed by the powers of the four gods. Tenkou's expression of shock at the moment the tables were turned was forever inscribed into her memory.

The sound of the waterfall was soothing. Miaka watched a butterfly alight on the rock next to her, with wings of purple and gold. Its colors were almost _too _vibrantly bright, as if the saturation on the image she was seeing had been artificially increased. Somehow, that didn't surprise Miaka. _This is where the four gods live, and if you have the power of a god, you might as well live in style. _

But that didn't explain –

"Why _have_ you brought me to the land of the four gods?" Miaka asked Suzaku. A sudden, horrible thought entered her mind suddenly, and it was all she could do to stop herself from squirming. "Am I dead? Have you devoured me?"

"_No,_" said Suzaku – and, for the first time, Miaka thought she caught a hint of a smile upon his face. His piercing gold eyes regarded her thoughtfully. "_No, you are not going to be devoured. You have passed the test._"

Miaka blinked. _Well, that's a relief._

"_I brought you to the land of the four gods,_" Suzaku continued,**"**_because we have matters of great importance to discuss, and this seemed the most appropriate place to do it._"

Matters of great importance – "You mean, the fact that I sealed you?" Miaka blurted. She had thought it impossible to be anything but calm in this place, but she found herself mistaken. All the shame she had stored up regarding the sealing of Suzaku was rushing to the surface again, and she was suddenly, miserably guilty. "I'm really sorry, you know. I shouldn't have done it. It was a terrible thing to do. It was selfish of me, the most selfish wish imaginable, and you can punish me in any way you want, _really_! I deserve it."

She felt a hand reach beneath her lowered chin and lift it. "_Miko,_" Suzaku said gently. "_I did not bring you here to punish you for sealing me. You have suffered a great deal for your wishes, far more than I would have desired. And you have redeemed yourself amply in the past months. I forgave you long ago._"

Suzaku shifted. The sound was like coals rustling on a hot fire. "_There is another matter, a different matter, that I brought you here to discuss,_" he said."_a matter of great importance to this world – and possibly also to yours._"

"What is it?" Miaka asked. Despite her relief from Suzaku's forgiveness, Miaka felt cold suddenly, as though she'd been struck by a sudden draft.

_"Many years ago, Tenkou figured out how to write Rules that would control the fundamental groundwork of this world as we know it. Rules that have the power to change the most basic aspects of this universe._

"_But the power to change the Rules has to come from somewhere. Recently, Miaka, someone in your home world re-discovered the secret to changing the Rules. And in writing more Rules, he further weakened this world, which was already weakened by your wishes._"

-v-

Back on Earth, Tetsuya wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. _Crap_, he thought, and poured himself a drink.

-v-

_Crap,_ Miaka thought glumly. "What does that mean?"

"_You have probably noticed the results of the power imbalance in this world already. It has manifested itself in tremors, landslides, and the formation of rifts in the fabric of the world. These are all symptoms of this world's malaise, signs that the earth is tearing itself apart. If the problem is not fixed, there will be more upheavals. The earth will continue to disintegrate._"

"Can we fix it?"

"_The problem can be fixed. With your help._"

"How–"

But before Miaka could finish her question, an enormous blue creature burst out of the river below the waterfall, scales flashing in the light. The timing of the sudden noise in conjunction with Miaka and Suzaku's conversation about the destruction of the universe was unfortunate – Miaka jumped and nearly fell off the rock and then let out a yelp as cold water splashed her arm. The dragon looped sinuously through the air and then reached land, morphing into human form a few feet from Miaka.

"_Hello, Miko._"

"_Seiryuu._" Suzaku did not seem entirely pleased with his brother's sudden intrusion. "_If you do not mind, my miko and I were in the middle of an important conversation._"

"**_Your_** _miko?_" Seiryuu shook water out of his hair and smoothed it back, looking supremely unconcerned. "_What exciting conversation did I happen to walk in on?_"

"Earthquakes," Miaka said, looking nervously from one brother to the other. At first glance, she had attributed the similarity in their features to their mutual status as higher beings. Now that she knew they were brothers, the subtle parallels between them made more sense. They both had the same long faces and high cheekbones that they had inherited from Tenkou; even their hair seemed similar, in style, if not in color. Apart from appearance, they were nothing alike. Suzaku's demeanor was serene (although Miaka could sense the barest flicker of irritation on his face as he faced Seiryuu). Seiryuu brimmed with impatience and untamed energy, and he was constantly in motion. He was staring at Miaka now, his expression half-arrogant, half-amused, tapping his foot as he waited for her to finish her answer.

"There's not enough power in the world, or something," Miaka said, with an apologetic glance at Suzaku, "and it's causing the world to tear itself apart."

"_That's all my brother told you?_"Seiryuu said. "_Allow me to fill in the gaps for you._"And, before Miaka could open her mouth to add that that was _not_ all, and that Suzaku had been about to tell her what she could do to fix the problems with the world, Seiryuu asked her: _"Do you remember what Tenkou said when he stole your power?"_

"He said a lot of things," Miaka said, frowning. "Which one in particular are you thinking of?"

_"Do you remember him telling you that your power is not given to you by the gods? That the power of people who come from your world falls in a special category all on its own?"_

Miaka frowned. She did remember; she could recall that afternoon in the cave in almost painful detail. "Yes," she told Seiryuu. "It was the reason he gave for wanting my power. Is it true?"

"_Obviously,_"said Seiryuu.

"I still don't understand," Miaka said. "Why do I – why do people from my world – have special powers?"

She heard Seiryuu sigh, as though she was being unbelievably slow. "_Tenkou __**made**__ it that way. He had just found the key to controlling the fundamental laws that governed the universe. Of _course_ the first thing he did was write a Rule that would give himself infinite power._"

Miaka blinked up at Seiryuu, who still bore a look of marked irritation, and then glanced at Suzaku. He was staring at the sky, a decidedly bland expression upon his face. _Infinite power? _Miaka wondered. Perhaps that made sense to some people – particularly if you were a god – but that certainly wouldn't have been the first thing _she_ would have chosen if she'd had the ability to control the fundamental law of the universe. _Probably the first thing Rule I would have written would have involved an infinite supply of pocky, or something. _Miaka considered this. _No, not pocky. Maybe mochi._

Something about the last part of what Seiryuu had said was troubling her. If Tenkou had written a rule that everyone who entered the Shijintenchisho from earth would acquire infinite power, then that would suggest Miaka had infinite power. Which was obviously untrue. Miaka frowned. The purple and gold butterfly was still on the rock; Miaka held out her hand and watched it clamber onto her fingers. "Just how powerful was Tenkou, anyway?" she asked idly. "When you said infinite, you couldn't have meant _infinite_."

"_I did, actually._"

She looked up. "But _I _don't have infinite –"

"_You will," _said Seiryuu.

"_Your powers will grow with time –_" said Suzaku.

"– _Until you have powers like Tenkou did, before he was sealed away into Hell,_" Seiryuu finished.

Suzaku sent a remonstrating glance in Seiryuu's direction. "_It will not be exactly infinite power. But it will be much more than you have now. And that,_"he continued, "_That, Miaka, is why your help is needed to heal this world._"

What was it Tenkou had said to her, in the dark of the cave?_ "In this universe, the people from Earth are special. We live longer – and we are far more powerful, and the longer we live, the more powerful we become."_Miaka felt very cold, and it had nothing to do with the spray from the nearby waterfall. "I don't understand," she said – although she thought she was beginning to understand all too well what the beast gods were tiptoeing around.

"_What the overblown pompous bird is trying to say, Miko, is that you've got a choice. Either you can go back to your home planet and read about the miserable fate of this world in The Universe of the Four Gods, or you can stay here and use your powers to fix the problem that _you_ helped create_. _Understand now?_"

"_That was unnecessarily harsh,_"said Suzaku.

"_Accurate, though._"

They both looked at Miaka.

Miaka felt like she was frozen in place. She could probably have moved, if tigers had been chasing her, or if some fresh-cooked udon had been placed beneath her nose, but even then it would have been with a great deal of difficulty.

"St- stay here?" she repeated. "Or – or what? What'll happen to my seishi if I leave?"

_"I can't predict the future exactly," _Seiryuu said with a shrug, "_But in the most likely scenario, they will each meet a sad and grisly fate. Do you want me to tell you how every one of them is probably going to die if you leave? I can guess at each of their deaths, if you like. Then again, since we're all just characters in a book to you – "_

_Characters in a book? _"How can you _say_ that?" Miaka asked. That was what made this so hard – Nakago and Nuriko, Tasuki and Amiboshi, Yurien, even Suboshi –There was no way she would be so selfish as to trade her happiness for all their lives. Only someone with a heart of ice could think of doing that. "I can't just let them _die!"_

_"Then you know what you have to do."_Seiryuu folded his arms and turned to Suzaku, a smug expression on his scaly features. "_There, that was easy. I've never really understood the purpose of a conscience, you know. It's always seemed to me like a bit of an impediment. But it does make mortals painfully easy to manipulate._"

"_Kindly remove yourself from my presence and that of __**my**__ miko," _Suzaku said coldly.

Seiryuu shrugged. Had he been an adolescent boy in Miaka's world, Miaka was ninety-nine percent certain he would have been muttering "Whatever," under his breath.

"_I apologize for my brother,_"Suzaku said, as the dragon dove back into the water with an insolent splash. "_He was the youngest of us, and he always was overly spoiled._"

"It's all right," said Miaka.

"_What he said, however, was unfortunately correct. You are now in the position where you must choose between a life in this world or a life in your home world. The balance of power in this world depends on you. If you left, not only would the earth eventually tear itself apart, but Tenkou would also slowly gain hold and eventually escape from prison. That is the future that Taiitsukun has foreseen._"

"Will I be able to visit Earth?" Miaka asked. "If I stay here?"

"_That remains to be seen._"

Miaka bowed her head.

"You say I have a choice," she said finally. "But you haven't really given me any choice at all. Seiryuu was right. I can't choose my own happiness over the lives of everyone here."

"_So you will stay here and use your power to put the world to rights?_"

Miaka lowered her head.

Stay here. Stay here, with the possibility of never seeing her mother or brother or Yui again. She had been in this world for so long that her mother and brother's images were starting to fade from her mind; it was becoming difficult to remember the shape of her mother's face, or the exact color of Keisuke's hair. But she knew that for them she had only been gone for a couple weeks. How would her family deal with her absence? Her mother especially; she would be frantic…

But the alternative – the alternative was simply too terrible to contemplate. _I made a selfish wish once,_ Miaka thought. She had learned her lesson from that wish, many times over. The people in this world were not characters in a book. They were decidedly real people, with real lives, real thoughts, real feelings. It really _wasn't _a choice.

"Can I say goodbye to everyone one last time?" Miaka whispered. "Before I go?"

For the first time during their encounter, Suzaku looked hesitant. He frowned for a moment and then said, "_There is not enough power or time to make such a visit possible. I am sorry._"

Miaka nodded, trying not to let her emotions show. Perhaps it was better this way, better to simply vanish, better not to see what she was losing and so make her decision more painful. Better for her simply to fade, out of peoples' minds and memory.

For a long, long time there was silence, save for the sounds of the waterfall.

"_I will take you to Mount Taikyoku,_" said Suzaku finally. "_Taiitsukun will begin training you in the use of your power._"

Miaka didn't move.

"_Miaka?_" said the beast-god gently.

She supposed she should have made the connection, that if she were going to stay here because her powers were necessary to fix the world, then she'd better learn to use them properly. Still, she felt nonplussed by Suzaku's words. For some reason, when she had envisioned staying in this world, she had imagined herself in the company of her seishi. Riding through the four kingdoms, finding pockets of evil or decay, and fixing them. Perhaps settling down eventually, once the worst of the problems had been resolved. She would have no trouble building a home in Konan again, at the palace, or maybe in Souen, once the small town was repaired. Or – no. She would be bound to go to Kutou. To protect Nakago and fulfill that promise Nakago had extracted from her – she might actually be some use as a protector, now that he'd lost his hand –

"Is – is it necessary?" Miaka said in a small voice. "Necessary that I train with Taiitsukun, I mean?"

"_Your power is going to grow. Has been growing. Without the proper education in its use, you will be a danger to yourself and to others._"

_Just like Nakago, when he was younger. _Miaka shuddered. She remembered vividly, the images she had seen in the _shin _– of young Nakago destroying his mother, a troop of soldiers, all because his powers got wildly out of control –

And Nakago had only had a seishi's power! Suzaku had said that _her _power would continue to grow until it was practically infinite. Miaka stared at her fingers and felt rather sick. The thought of so much power seemed suddenly repulsive, terrifying. What if she accidentally blew up a palace? Killed someone? Doomed the world that she was supposed to be trying to save through some stupid accident? She had already seen a sobering example, in Tenkou, of how such power could be misused.

And it scared her.

She didn't want to be responsible for so much power. Didn't _want_ to be in a position where a single decision could have life-or-death consequences for hundreds of people. She was not Tenkou, who desired dominance, and she was not Taiitsukun, who wore control and responsibility like a cloak. She was not one of the gods. She was simply Miaka. She wanted enough power to be able to protect the people she cared about, to heal. Any more than that was excess. You didn't need powers to have friends who cared about you. To love and be loved.

Miaka opened her mouth.

"No," she said.

Suzaku frowned. His expression could only have been classified as politely puzzled.

_"No?"_

Miaka looked up. "I'll stay in this world, if I have to," she said. "I'll give my extra power to you, to Taiitsukun, to whoever needs to use it to fix the damage that's been done to the world. But I'm not like Tenkou. I don't want infinite power for myself. I won't know how to use it. I can't keep it."

"_You will not have a choice._"

"That's not true. I can pass my power on to someone else who does know how to use it," Miaka said stubbornly. "I'll give it to you! Or to Taiitsukun. And if you or Taiitsukun don't want it, I'll _give_ it away as I see fit. But I _won't _keep it. I've seen what too much power does to people. Certain people thrive with it, but I think so much responsibility would be miserable. I can manage being a priestess, but I _don't_ want to be a god."

Suzaku paused. For a moment, Miaka almost quailed under the long, even look he gave her. It was an assessing look. A contemplating look.

"_It is common to accept an offer of power, or a position of respect or glory," _Suzaku said, finally. "_Far rarer, I think, to refuse it. But that does not mean that your choice is misguided."_

The butterfly was crawling up her arm, but Miaka paid it no attention. She watched Suzaku tensely, wondering. Was he actually serious – did he actually think she was making the _right_ choice? Suzaku, who was the son of Tenkou and Taiitsukun, who had practically unlimited powers himself – ?

_"My mother would contest your decision,_" Suzaku said."_I believe she has long desired to train a guardian to take her place on Mount Taiitsukun._"

_A __**replacement**__ – !_

"_But you are _my_ miko,_" Suzaku continued, and a slightly steely note that Miaka had never heard before entered his voice for a moment."_I have a certain… interest in your well-being, and if you truly wish to give your power to Taiitsukun or the gods, I feel that it is important to remind you that you have one wish remaining that you have not yet used._"

Miaka blinked. With all that had happened that day, including the discovery that she would have to stay in this world, she had forgotten about her third wish entirely. _But of course – I used my first wish to unseal Suzaku and my second to unseal Seiryuu, so there is one wish left_. And yet –

"Shouldn't I use my wish for something… bigger than this?" Miaka asked him skeptically. "Restoring the world or something?"

"_A small wish,_" Suzaku suggested gently, "_would harm the universe less than a larger wish would at this moment. The power for the wish does not come from the gods, but from the world itself, and our world is already in great disarray._"

"In that case," Miaka said slowly, "would it make sense to wish that any powers that I gain - in excess of the ones that I have right now - be transferred over to either you or Taiitsukun?"

Suzaku smiled.

-v-

"No," said Keisuke, almost numbly. "No – this can't be right. Miaka should use her last wish to come home, not to – Miaka _can't_ stay in the Universe of the Four Gods. She has to come back. Mom will – oh, _God_. Make her come back, Tetsuya. Fix it. _Fix it!_"

He launched himself into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. Yui would have gone to try to comfort him, had her whole attention not been focused on further lines, which were still appearing in the Universe of the Four Gods:

_And the miko uttered the command to seal the wish. From then on, she would reside on the earth with her seishi, keeping only a fraction of her powers, and the gods would use her additional powers to restore the world to rights. _

"Give me The Book," said Tetsuya.

Yui glanced at him. Tetsuya looked disheveled; his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep; and his hand shook a little as it reached out to take The Book.

_Miaka,_ Yui thought. _Miaka, what would you want me to do? _If The Book really contained a portal into a world of real people, then Miaka's decision was almost certainly the right one. Much as Yui hated it, Miaka was out of their reach now_._

Tetsuya was still staring at her. Waiting.

"Tetsuya, I don't think – " Yui glanced at Keisuke and then lowered her voice. "Writing Rules into The Book was what led to this problem in the first place. I'm – I'm not sure you should – Tetsuya, wait – _no!_"

But Tetsuya had already lifted The Book gently out of her hands. Yui watched, helplessly, as Tetsuya grabbed the nearest pen and jotted a quick sentence inside it. Then he tossed the pen aside and buried his face in his hands.

"Well?" said Keisuke, looking up. "Did you write it? Is she coming back?"

For a moment, Tetsuya said nothing. Then he exhaled shakily and shook his head. He abandoned The Book on the desk to rest a hand on Keisuke's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I wouldn't be surprised if The Book no longer works. Remember what the gods said, how manipulating The Rules were causing the world to disintegrate. The four gods probably realized this and made it so that The Book no longer could be used to control their world."

He sounded incredibly tired. Guilty, almost.

Yui's eyes narrowed.

"No," said Keisuke. "That can't be true –"

"I'm sorry, Keisuke." Tetsuya stared at the floor. "I really am."

There was a moment where Yui thought Keisuke was going to run over to Tetsuya. Demand that Tetsuya try again. Or pick up The Book off the table and write more Rules into the Universe of the Four Gods himself.

But then Keisuke's face seemed to crumple. He passed a shaking hand over his eyes and collapsed back in his seat, looking devastated.

Yui hurried forward.

But as she headed toward Keisuke, Yui found her eyes drawn toward The Book, which still lay open on the table. Slowly, ignoring for a moment the sounds of Keisuke's muffled sobs, Yui approached The Book and stared at the words Tetsuya had placed on the page, a few seconds earlier. For a moment, just before the ink faded into the old, faintly yellowing paper, Yui was able to make out the last words Tetsuya had written, still gently glistening:

_And the world described herein was never again controlled by people writing Rules into a magical book. _

-v-

Suzaku was gone. The image of his golden eyes lingered in the back of her mind as Miaka drifted awake.

She lay for awhile, unmoving. It was completely dark in the small tent she shared with the other women of their party. For awhile, Miaka allowed herself to be soothed by the noise of their breathing.

In the distance, she could hear the soft lap of water on sand. They were still by the lake. It had seemed most sensible to set up camp on shore right after Tenkou's defeat. Miraculously, no one had sustained mortal wounds in the battle against Tenkou, but Nakago and Tasuki were badly injured, and Amiboshi and Suboshi wouldn't be doing anything with their dominant hands anytime soon. The general consensus among all parties was to wait a few days until the injured members of their group had sufficiently recovered, and then part ways.

Miaka wondered why she was awake. It was hours before dawn still. Had someone woken her intentionally? Perhaps someone's wound had re-opened and needed treatment. But when she looked behind her, she saw that there was no one else in the tent save for those she had started out the night with – Yurien, Nuriko, Kaen and Subaru. All appeared sound asleep; Nuriko was snoring delicately.

Miaka relaxed again. She had almost convinced herself that it was simply her return from the Land of the Four Gods that had awoken her, when she heard the soft noise of footsteps outside her tent.

Frowning, Miaka tossed her blanket over her shoulders. It took her a few minutes to tiptoe over the sleeping forms of her seishi without waking them. Finally, Miaka reached the door to the tent. She slid outside.

The moon was high overhead, illuminating the two tents perched on the edge of the sandy beach. Miaka slowly twirled on her heel, looking for the source of noise that had woken her. Her eyes came to rest on a tall figure, a short ways down the lake shore.

_Nakago. _

He was walking slowly, with measured steps that probably disguised a good deal of pain. He turned as she hurried toward him and paused to wait for her.

"How – how are you feeling?" she asked him, a little breathless.

"Alive."

He looked better than when she had last seen him, though still ill. Miaka felt her throat catch a little at the sight of the stump where his right hand had been. After the four gods and Taiitsukun had sealed Tenkou into his cave, Miaka had tended to Nakago's wounds as best she could, but she hadn't been able to reverse the horrific damage that Tenkou had done to Nakago's right arm. The flesh had burned away entirely from the hand, leaving only bone. Seeing Nakago now, Miaka felt a stab of guilt for wishing all her power away so quickly. _If I hadn't made that wish, I might have wished to have his arm fixed. If I hadn't been so terrified of power, I might have fixed it myself. _

But it was stupid to worry about things she couldn't change now. Miaka turned over what Nakago had just said in her mind. _Alive. That's good, I suppose._ She looked up. Despite Nakago's pale features, Miaka caught the familiar sardonic gleam in his eye. He didn't seem to be too put out about his loss – at least, not yet.

She smiled at him. "I'm glad you're feeling better. Earlier you looked half-dead." He really had, too. She had found him passed out by the side of the lake right after Tenkou's defeat, and he had been unconscious for almost all of the day, waking up only towards evening to eat a little. Miaka reached up to check his forehead – he had a fever. _Mild, though. _ No doubt his seishi powers were helping him heal from this wound faster than was possible for a normal human. Still –"But really, shouldn't you be in bed?" Miaka asked, a little acerbically.

"I couldn't sleep." He stared out, across the lake for a moment. "Given that none of you had the sense to post a sentry, it was probably for the best."

_Oops. _They had forgotten about that. With Tenkou gone, it had seemed rather unnecessary, although Miaka's previous travel experience had suggested that they could be attacked by anything from bandits to rogue soldiers while on the road.

But Nakago did not seem overly inclined to belabor the point. "Walk with me," he said.

It was such an unusual request that Miaka complied without thinking. They began to walk, heading steadily farther from camp. After a couple minutes, Miaka wondered if they ought to turn back, but they were moving at a slow pace, and Nakago seemed to be well on the road to healing himself already. Besides, she suspected that any suggestions of turning back would be met with an acerbic comment or outright ignored.

She stared out across the lake. The clouds had parted shortly after Tenkou's defeat, and the sky was now brilliantly clear. _Not quite as brilliant as it was in the Land of the Four Gods, but close. _The moon was a waning gibbous, and its light glinted off the water of the lake.

Nakago followed her line of sight. "This was a beautiful place, once," he remarked casually, "although you wouldn't think that, to look at it now."

Miaka thought of the lake she had seen in the _shin_. Fields of blue flowers, and grass that reached up to your thighs.

"It could be beautiful again," she said.

"Perhaps," Nakago said ironically. "Or perhaps the boundary of Hell ought to remain a wasteland. If Tenkou is lurking beneath the surface of the lake, best that this place _not_ become lush enough to entice clans and families to settle here."

"Nakago?"

He looked at her.

"What happened between you and Tenkou? On the lake, after I – I died?"

She remembered the sight she had woken up to just after she'd returned from death. The sword of Suzaku buried in Tenkou's chest, glowing an angry shade of red, and Nakago, clutching it –

"I picked a fight with a powerful foe."

Miaka turned toward Nakago. She frowned at him. "Amiboshi said you got your wound trying to take Tenkou's power."

"The sudden influx of so much power can occasionally have unfortunate physical side effects."

_Like burning your arm off? _Miaka shot him a sideways glance. Either Nakago was still in shock or he was taking the loss of his arm much too calmly for a normal person. Knowing Nakago, it was probably the latter. But she decided to overlook his seeming indifference – for now. "You saved all of us," she said. "I wouldn't have been able to unseal Seiryuu if you hadn't given me my power back. And you –"

And he had also saved her by doing… whatever it was he had done while Tenkou was trying to corrupt her with words – talking to her inside her head – showing her pictures of the lives of Tenkou and Taiitsukun that he got from the _shin _–

How _had_ he done that anyway? It was almost as though he had spoken to her, in her mind. But such a thing shouldn't even be possible –

_I think we have successfully proved that it __**is**_ _possible, _said Nakago. _The main question is __**why**__. _

"Well of course it is," said Miaka. "Because it really doesn't make any sense that you would just randomly start being able to talk to me in my head –"

Miaka froze.

_I have a couple of hypotheses. Would you care to hear them?_

Miaka's head swiveled around to glare at Nakago. "I definitely didn't speak aloud just now," she said, trying to quell the sinking feeling in her stomach. "I sometimes do by accident, you know, but usually I remember – and this time, I definitely didn't. Does this mean you just –" **_Oh NO…_**

"Perhaps you ought to consider thinking more quietly," Nakago said dryly.

"Perhaps _you_ ought to consider _jumping in the lake_!" Miaka hissed.

"Gladly," Nakago said, glancing down at his clothes, which – Miaka realized – were still stained with blood – most of it hers. "I'm afraid I shall need some help disrobing. This injury makes untying knots something of a challenge." He indicated his bandaged arm, still wrapped in a sling, and raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you are volunteering to help me bathe?"

Miaka spluttered, flushing. Her humiliation was compounded ten times over when she realized that Nakago was probably using their newfound connection to pick up the _exact _mental images that were swirling through her mind right at that moment. Had her cheeks burned any hotter, the others might have been able to use her face as a stovetop.

"We are _so_ confronting Taiitsukun about this problem tomorrow," she muttered.

"Yes," Nakago said agreeably. "Perhaps she will succeed at curing your perversion. Until then, I shall enjoy knowing _exactly_ what you think of me."

He was thoroughly impossible. Miaka squeezed her eyes shut and fought the urge to slap him. _He's already injured, it would be rude to hit an injured man – maybe just a little slap, to wipe that annoying smirk off his face –_

"Fortunately, we should not have to worry about this curse much longer," said Nakago, and before Miaka could take offense at him terming being linked to her mind a curse, he added: "Now that Tenkou is gone, I suppose you will be returning to your world very shortly, and I cannot imagine the link extending across worlds."

Miaka's breath hitched.

_Home…_

Unbidden, a tear slid down her cheek. _Home. Yui, and Keisuke, and Mom – _

It was then that it hit her – really hit her, that she was cut off from her home world, that she would never again see her city, her family, her friends. They were sequestered from each other, isolated by the barrier of being in entirely different worlds; her mother and Keisuke and Yui were practically dead to her, and she to them. She supposed the serenity of the Land of the Four Gods had dulled the pain of loss somewhat – or perhaps at the time she had simply been in shock. Now, it felt like a giant rift had suddenly opened up underneath her. The knowledge of her loss came on so suddenly that for a moment it was almost hard to breathe.

It was almost uncanny, how quickly Nakago noticed her change in mood. She saw him frown. "What troubles you?" he asked.

_We all make sacrifices, _she thought. _Nakago lost his arm, so many of the other seishi were hurt and injured – I shouldn't be sad! My family's still alive – and I'm still alive too – _

And yet she was still crying; tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. She dashed them from her eyes, but more fell to replace them.

She realized Nakago was waiting for a reply and turned toward him finally.

"It's just – Suzaku said I –"

_I can never go back._

Nakago touched her still-glistening cheek. A tear hung there, clinging to the pad of his thumb. Miaka watched it glitter in the moonlight.

_Then go forward,_ he said quietly.

-v-

From a spot just behind the tents, where the crags made shadows over the lake, Kaen watched them covertly.

She had been woken by the sound of Miaka leaving and had followed Miaka out of the tent, as silently as an owl on the wind. She had watched Miaka join Nakago and watched them make their way slowly along the shore of the lake.

The air was fresh, clear, bright. It was hard to believe that Tenkou was gone – hard to believe that, just the previous night, she had been standing over a wounded Nakago, a blade in her hand, fighting with Soi over whether or not to use the weapon –

Kaen heard footsteps approaching. She gasped and spun around, reaching frantically for the nearest rock –

"It's just me," said Amiboshi, backing up a step. He raised right hand up, perhaps to show that he was unarmed, or perhaps in a gesture of peace and goodwill. His left hand lay in a proper sling around his neck now; they had seen to it that his wrist was set properly after Tenkou was defeated.

He sat down next to her on the beach, picked up a shell and studied it. "I couldn't sleep. My wrist was keeping me awake, and besides, it's been an exciting day. What are you doing here?"

He hadn't seen Nakago and Miaka, and Kaen didn't want to point them out. Instead, she stared thoughtfully into the water and shook her head. "The same. Just trying to come to terms with it all. I mean, Tenkou's trapped. Really trapped, so he can't ever escape." Kaen stared into the waters of the lake and shuddered. "He-he was the real monster, I think. Not Nakago."

"Perhaps no one is truly a monster," Amiboshi said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's mostly a matter of perspective. Though Tenkou came pretty close."

He studied her for a moment. "Soi is still with you, isn't she?"

Kaen's eyes whipped up to look at him. He was still toying with the shell, not even looking at her anymore. His expression was perfectly calm.

"I l-let her come back," Kaen stammered. "In the cave – she was – her soul was just going to die. So I let her come back. How did you know?"

"A lucky guess. I think Suboshi knows, too. He said he saw something odd in the cave."

"No one else must ever know." For a moment, Kaen allowed Soi to take over. It was odd, she thought vaguely, how Soi's voice was slightly lower than hers, more confident and mature. "None of the other seishi," Soi said quietly. "Not Miaka –"

"Even Nakago?"

"_Especially_ Nakago!" said Soi.

"You could –"

"No," Kaen heard Soi say. "It's much better this way. We can never be together in this world, and I _want _him to move on." She smiled, her expression slightly sad, and looked out across the lake for a moment, toward Nakago and Miaka, then looked back quickly, before Amiboshi could follow her gaze. "Besides, he doesn't really need me anymore. I doubt he ever did."

Amiboshi frowned. "Where will you go now?"

Soi slid away, and then Kaen found herself back in control again. She blinked, shook herself slightly, and then shrugged; she hadn't really thought about it. "I can't go back home. My family wouldn't – I don't think they'd want me back, honestly. I guess I'll go south, into Konan. Somewhere far away from Kutou. Perhaps I'll go to Souen, if it's still standing. Mitsukake said I would be welcome, the last time I was there."

"Well, just be sure to draw us a map so Suboshi and I can come visit."

She blinked at him. "V-visit?"

"Of course. We're your friends, Kaen. You weren't going to just shut yourself off from the rest of the world, were you?"

"No," she said.

She felt a kind of odd happiness fill her, a combination of relief and excitement. Bad things had happened, it was true, but bad things happened to everyone, you couldn't control them or eliminate them entirely. She had been plagued by dreams and memories, and she knew she would be still – but that was all they were, memories. They were in the past; they couldn't really hurt her anymore.

"Of course I wasn't," she told Amiboshi. "It's the first day of our new lives, after all."

-v-

**Author's note: **Wheee!

So that is sort of the end! I DO have an aftermath/epilogue in the works, to tie up loose ends and to appease my authorly fancies. I like to think that _Protected_ could sort of stand on its own, but I have a decent idea of what comes afterwards in the lives of Miaka & Nakago, so I wanted to write it into existence. It's a lot of fun (what I've written of it so far, anyway), and kind of fluffy, and I'm looking forward to posting it. Unfortunately, it's only partially-written… and I go back to school tomorrow. But I will try my very best to post the epilogue on or before 3/22/2013!

Please review? -Smiles winningly- Even if it's just "That was the weirdest ending ever" or "But where's the romance?" or "Are you sure you haven't been noshing on psychedelic mushrooms?" I really do want to know what you think! Also, a big thanks to those of you who have been reviewing throughout this process. You guys are the best! Virtual cookies for all! (But not the browser-related kind).

-v-

**Questions from you:**

**Nakago and Miaka's connection, has that been explained?**

Nope – it'll be touched upon in the epilogue, but since I see no reason to keep you in suspense: it has to do with when Miaka ventured into Nakago's heart and brought him back to life.

**So did Miaka send herself back, or was it Tetsuya's writing in the book that did it? **

Tetsuya's writing in the book brought Miaka's body back to life, but her soul had to make the decision to come back as well – hence the scene with Tamahome.

**But… what happened to the romance?**

No one's actually asked me this yet, but I can anticipate it being asked, particularly since there hasn't… really… been any overt romance yet. Heh. I thought pretty seriously about that aspect, but at the end of this story I concluded that, at the place where my characters currently are, it's too soon for them to be admitting their feelings for each other. It's really only been a month since the story started (scary, right?). Miaka still has residual feelings for Tamahome, Nakago is still kind of coming to terms with the fact that he actually trusts someone other than himself. (Of course, I'm pretty sure they both have some unacknowledged feelings).

Hence, the epilogue.

-v-

**Questions for you:**

How do you feel about Miaka staying in the Book-world?

What about Kaen? Was the Soi thing a surprise? (I didn't necessarily mean for it to be, I'm just curious whether you were expecting it or not).

What about Tetsuya's last Rule? Surprise or not a surprise? Fitting or not fitting?

What about Nakago's arm?

General thoughts on the ending?

General thoughts on the story?


End file.
